


Courage to Douse the Hurt Below

by PagesToPlaces



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Organized Crime, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:07:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PagesToPlaces/pseuds/PagesToPlaces
Summary: When Mr. Gold left Glasgow, he fled with a child in tow. He stumbled upon Storybrooke and made the quiet town his home, enjoying the predictable nature of the place. But twelve years of peace was too much too long for the Fates. With the news of something coming to invade his quiet hamlet at the same time a mysterious woman settles there, he begins to think that perhaps maybe there are no coincidences in life. Can he protect everything he's built, or will he find that there must be loss and fire to bring gain and regrowth?





	1. Summer Storm

Italian leather shoes stepped off the curb, splashing the shallow puddle of water forming in the dip where concrete met tarmac. A cane the color of ebony tapped in time with the right leg covered by a black pant suit. The bronze handle, ornately decorated for a normal cane, was gripped by firm hand and lightly calloused fingers to keep the metal from slipping in the onslaught of rain. Every other step, the hand would briefly bear weight while a charcoal gray shirt cuff slipped farther away before sliding down to graze the wrist as the cane swung back and then forward again. The suit jacket itself, an expensive, pinstriped thing, had become drenched as the man took his time seeking shelter from the storm.

Rain pelted down, striking his head and soaking the only thing out of place from the rest of his immaculate attire: dark brown hair that touched the base of his neck. Now, amidst the torrential downpour, it clung and dripped against his skin. The man blinked away water from deceptively warm, soft brown eyes. The grim set to the thin lips pressed firmly together revealed a harder nature than the false sincerity beneath his lashes. High cheekbones protrude so that it seemed the man flirted with gaunt.

His most striking feature, perhaps, was the long, sharp nose that seemed ready and eager to participate in any sneer his lips might endeavor. Now, and rather comically, the rain dripped off the end and pelted toward the ground.

He crossed the street, passing by another man who toted an umbrella, and his height became apparent. While by no means dwarfish, the man could not boast great stature, bordering the short side of average as he did. With each strike of the cane, however, each step he took in his expensive clothes and an expression rivaling the storm passing around him, one wouldn’t notice the lack of height for long. He carried himself too well with his shoulders back and growl at the ready in the back of his throat.

Even in a city unfamiliar with his name, people shied away from him, something dark rolling off him in waves.

He didn’t feel particularly intimidating, however, as he stepped up onto the curb on the other side of the street. Miserable might have been a more accurate description as he hunched against the deluge. Wet clothes sticking to his skin and water racing form his hair down his back created an uncomfortable situation. All those years in Scotland, amidst rainy days and ever cloudy skies, he’d learned, apparently, nothing. 

As he plodded along, each step splashing on the sidewalk, he wondered at the root of his true discomfort. His son was at home alone. He had never been particularly subject to homesickness, but he had also never left his child alone for such an extended period of time. Gone were the days where he could up and leave on a business trip for a week with no repercussions.

Those days were those days, buried deep beneath sixteen years.

He missed his son and coming home to an empty refrigerator ravaged by a teenager’s monstrous appetite. Baeden could put a black hole to shame with the amount of food he consumed.

Here, meeting with an old acquaintance, he found he’d grown accustomed to having someone expect him to be better, kinder even. Someone who saw a sliver of light in this darkness he’d created for himself. 

Bae’s very existence curtailed a good deal of his more devious and vengeful nature at his hometown. With no one to stop him a scant four hours away, he felt both liberated and disgusted with himself.

Easier, yes, to skirt the disapproving looks and disappointed words. The knowledge of having done them and knowing what the response would have been, well that tugged at a string he’d long forgotten existed.

The sound of thunder rolling across the sky chasing the flash of electricity aching to touch the ground, shook him from his thoughts. Squinting through the drops falling over his eyes, he spotted a second-hand shop with an overhang. Perhaps, if he maintained some luck, they would have an umbrella he could purchase. He gripped the cane tighter and made a bee line to the shop.

Behind a column, a woman rummaged in her purse. Chestnut hair hid her face like a curtain. For a brief moment, he was on his guard, defense up and hackles raised. He settled down when she muttered a short complaint followed by a soft curse.

He ignored her and entered the store, his hand nearly slipping on the sleek metal his wet hand strove to grip. The air conditioning hit him full blast. It instantly reacted with the wet suit he wore, chilling his skin relentlessly. Shivering, he swiped his hair back and peered around the store for an umbrella.

He took a step farther in, still not seeing an umbrella in any corner. Not caring to wander the aisles in search of one, he walked over to an attendant, shoes squeaking against the hard tile.

The employee was a young man leaning on the counter reading a magazine. He glanced up and gave a half smile and a nod for a greeting.

“How can I help you?”

“I need an umbrella,” he declared, diving straight to the point. The young man gave him a once over, eyeing the drenched, expensive and ruined suit. 

“Just behind the clothes rack, dude.”

A chime rang out as the door opened and admitted the woman from the street. Ignoring her, the man limped to the clothes rack and found a single, burgundy umbrella. Reaching for it, he heard the slap of trainers against the ground, coming towards him in great haste. Quickly wrapping his fingers around it, he half readied himself for an attack. 

“Oh, no, is that the last one?” a distinctly female Australian accent asked from behind him. Rounding to face her, a neat move that almost sent him sprawling from the wet floor he stood on, he offered it.

She seemed as surprised as himself. Blinking at the dark red in his hand, he wondered when he’d made the decision to let her have it. Certainly not in his nature, by all normality he should be well on his way to the cashier and then out the door. He hadn’t even seen the face of the woman he was offering the umbrella to. He’d turned to quickly and then promptly stared at the object in confusion and disbelief.

“No, you take it. You got here first and honestly, your suit looks too nice to get any more wet,” she declined with a smile and a wave of her hand.

He looked at her then while still trying to remove the shocked expression from his face. 

The first thing he saw was her navy-blue sweatshirt, baggy and well worn. The single pocket frayed at the edges and two bleach stains, just small drops, could be seen on the cuffs of her sleeves. Paint, more colors than just white, could be found splattering first one side and then the other as tiny dots of imperfection. 

Chestnut hair hung in equal parts flat and frizzed, wet and oddly dry. It pleased him, something he realized a fraction later after the observation, that she stood a good five inches shorter. After a day of being surrounded by American giants, it was refreshing. 

Just a quick glance at her lips, slightly chapped, and her nose, pink at the tip, did nothing to make him understand why he would give her the umbrella. When he locked eyes with her, he found a reason.  
Never mind that they were red rimmed with a light bruise colored tint beneath both as if she hadn’t slept in a while. Those eyes were the clearest blue he’d ever seen. His tailor back in Scotland had once held up a tie of a similar color, one that had become a favorite, and named it cerulean.

This woman held that color in her eyes.

He also realized he’d been silent a beat too long. Blinking, he said the first word that popped into her head that related to her words.

“Ruined.”

“Pardon?” her brow furrowed and he realized that just the one word alone didn’t get his point across.

“The suit,” he began, “it’s already ruined.” He gave a half shrug. “It won’t really matter if you take the umbrella or not.”

She smiled again as if he’d said something kind. “Really, it’s alright. My hotel is just down the block and I have a hood.”

The woman flipped the hood over her hair to prove her point. The material was thoroughly soaked. A small smile at her gesture tugged at the corner of his lips before his mind latched onto what she had just said.

“Are you at the Marriot?”

She started, eyeing him up and down as if he’d just said something suspicious. Honestly, he would have done the same thing.  
“I am.”

Pursing his lips in satisfaction, he retracted the hand proffering the umbrella and admitted, “I am staying there as well.”

The suspicion, or was it apprehension, dissipated from her expression and her body language. 

“Perhaps,” he said tentatively, suddenly unable to look her in the eyes. “we might share the umbrella?”

She tucked a lock of errant hair behind her ear and shyly nodded. “I would like that, thank you.”

Then she beamed at him, as if he were some white knight rescuing her from distress.

As they wound their way back to the cashier, she pulled out of her purse a wallet where she began fumbling for money. 

“Please, it’s not necessary,” he said, forestalling her. “Not to sound utterly pretentious, but have you seen this suit?” he gestured to the sodden, expensive, cloth. “Believe me when I say this is hardly the item that will break the proverbial camel’s back.”

The woman raised an eyebrow at him before slipping the wallet back into her hand bag at the sight of his even stare. “I don’t particularly believe there is a way to say that without sounding pretentious.”

Laying both umbrella and cash on the counter, he shrugged again, the wet suit sticking to his shoulders uncomfortably. “At the price of this suit, I don’t know that I particularly have to care.”

The cashier scanned the item and counted out the change while the woman, yet again, smiled at him.

“So, wealthy enough you don’t care about sounding pretentious, but not so rich you don’t mind being rude.”

Waving off the receipt, he took the umbrella in hand and pointed it to the door. “Depends,” he mused, “what wealth equates to lack of manners?”

The woman held the door open for him as he limped out and paused under the overhang. She seemed to be taking the question seriously, taking a moment before answering, “I think a billionaire could get away with  
it, but I am under the impression that manners shouldn’t be tied to money.”

Flicking open the red umbrella, he held it in his left hand, between himself and the woman and jerked his head toward the sidewalk. She walked close to him, matching his uneven gait with slow, sure steps. The rain beat a steady tattoo on the umbrella the moment they exited from under the overhang.

“Well, then, I’m not entitled to rudeness.”

Briefly, she was silent. Long enough, however, that he turned his head to study her. She’d cocked her head slightly and was analyzing him. She had that look about her, no guile, just curiosity. He almost pitied her. 

He was a hard man to read.

“Oh, but you’re close, aren’t you?”

Perhaps not.

“What makes you think that?”

“You mean aside from your expensive suit?” she retorted with a smile that crinkled her eyes.

“It’s not as if I’m wearing a Rolex.”

She conceded the point with a tilt of her head before giving her explanation. “It’s the way you carry yourself. Self-assured, a little entitled, a little cautious. Your hair is a touch long for an everyday business man, so that means you make enough you don’t care what people think because you’ve already established yourself. You know you have money and you aren’t afraid to let people know it, but experience has made you  
cautious because you have a lot to lose.”

He listened to her short analysis and raised his eyebrows in mild surprise at the accuracy. 

“Close,” he admitted. “And you come to this conclusion utilizing what skills? Detective perhaps? Psychologist?”

“Artist,” she stated, avoiding a puddle as she spoke. 

“Not starving, I see,” he jested awkwardly and by some miracle, it worked. She chuckled and spread her arms slightly.

“No, but I certainly have been trying to ignore my shabby sweatshirt with all this money talk.”

A pang of regret, a distinctly foreign feeling, struck him. He shifted his grip on the umbrella before stating, “I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”

“No!” she cried, shaking her head adamantly. “Not at all. I have a perfectly valid excuse to wear this.”

“Because it’s comfortable?” he hazarded a guess, knowing that even were he wrong, the likelihood of her using that excuse was high. The Scotsman tried to digest the fact that this conversation was even happening – amicably at that. He didn’t even know her name and she seemed to have no problem conversing with him about how clearly wealthy he appeared. 

Perhaps the rain had washed away the usual aura of unwelcome he generally presented. Maybe she was just to blind to see how terrible he really was, how little he actually cared for other the feelings of others. This woman, with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, saw much less than he’d previously thought. He couldn’t seem to tear himself away, to shut her up with a well-placed word, however. Somehow, his attention clung to her every word without explanation.

“Partially. I’m traveling. This is my lucky sweatshirt.” She pointed with a grin at the shabby thing she wore and he needed no closer inspection to see how well loved it was.

“Lucky?” he asked skeptically, giving it another once over before maneuvering around a puddle, briefly stepping out into the rain to keep the umbrella over her head.

“Absolutely!” the woman pronounced, smile never leaving her face. “Something good or exciting always happens when I wear this sweatshirt when I travel.”

He’d never believed in superstition. Luck was simple circumstance and much more likely to be created by oneself than the ‘fates’. 

“You don’t believe in luck, do you,” she accused. Instead of replying, he gave a one shouldered shrug. 

“Well, believe what you like, but I’m telling you this sweatshirt has done me nothing but good.”

The storm commandeered the conversation then. A crackle of thunder rolled out across the sky, chasing a flash of lightning they couldn’t see. The woman started, lost in her own thoughts and jumping at the suddenness of it.

“Where are you traveling from?” he asked, curiosity in line with the foreign desire to fill in the silence. He’d never particularly felt the need to keep a conversation going. When people felt awkward, he was more likely to get what he wanted from them. Here and now, what he wanted was to keep this woman comfortable – at ease.

It seemed to work at first, first words remaining vague but honest. “I’m just coming in from Paris.”

He noticed the hotel approaching fast. Since stepping out into the rain just fifteen minutes ago, he felt happier, more aware since meeting this woman. Now that he felt settled, he didn’t want this distraction to leave.  
She’d just said she’d visited Paris. Something to say shouldn’t require this much searching.

The Marriot loomed closer and still his tongue remained tied in some knot too complex for his tired mind.

By the time he thought of asking her about the Louvre, she was an artist after all, the revolving door was before him and the red umbrella no longer necessary.

She kindly waited as he took a moment to close their shared protection and shake it out before entering the building. 

Together, they stood just inside, neither quite meeting the other’s eye. The torrent outside became a distant thrum of sound, a muted patter of water repeatedly pouring down on the building that now served as shelter from the storm.

“Well, she said finally, folding her arms and shivering at the sudden blast of air conditioning ever present in the summer heat. “Thank you for sharing your umbrella.”

Ducking his head in a shy manner he hadn’t done since he was a teenager in Glasgow, he replied, “You are quite welcome.”

The woman stuck her hands into the center pocket of her lucky sweatshirt, swung away as if to go, half turned back, saying, “It was nice meeting you,” then pivoted and began to walk away.

Those words reminded him of the most crucial part of any meeting. He’d never been struck so at the thought of forgetting an introduction, but hurried after her, touching her arm with a solitary finger while the umbrella bumped against her leg in his haste.

“Wait!”

She faced him again in an instant, her bright eyes crinkling at the sight of him.

“Yes?”

His confidence faltered for a moment before his tongue finally loosened and he managed in an uncharacteristically faltering manner, “You know, one of the most important parts in meeting someone is getting their name.”

Switching his cane to his left hand, he stuck out his right and for the first time in twenty years, he didn’t only give his last name. “Torquil Gold.”

The woman smiled as she took his hand, hers enveloped in his warm one. “I’m Belle, Belle French.”

Torquil Gold didn’t know it then, but something had changed forever.

**~~~***~~~**

Every morning began the same way for Gold. His eyes flew open and he bolted upright, eyes desperately roving the room, pupils blown wide in fear. His chest heaved as he sucked gulping breaths before flopping back and laying for a minute and a half. 

The images his mind conjured during the restless nights tore him from what little peace he managed during the day. The nightmares took various forms. He had no trouble falling asleep, but the distorted memories his sub-conscience provided him with startled him into wakefulness much earlier than he would have liked.

If sleep was for the blameless, then he deserved none.

Showering, allowing the tension to dissipate as he took his time, Gold finger combed his hair back as he buttoned the white dress shirt all the way to the top. He didn’t know why he’d brought it with him. Most of the  
shirts he owned reflected the persona he’d created for himself: dark and foreboding. 

Instead of picking out a gray tie neatly folded in his suitcase, his hand strayed to the right of it and chose a paisley color he’d brought on a whim. Tying the knot around his neck, he moved to stand in front of a mirror, fingers flipping the silk around itself until it settled comfortably against his throat.

The action of dressing was his own small way of taking the power back he’d lost while he’d slept. This suit was armor. From the threads that served as chainmail to the vest he considered a breastplate, when he smoothed out non-existent creases he felt prepared to face the world. 

He couldn’t be harmed in his armor. Not by the past.

After one last glance in the mirror, he scooped up his cane, new umbrella, and wallet and exited the suite. He had one last meeting that day before he could return home to his son. Before he faced the old colleague, he needed to unwind. Relax. 

Ringing for the lift after limping down the hall, he stared at the red umbrella in his hand. Absently, Gold wondered if he’d ever see the woman again.

Belle French. There was something about her that he couldn’t put his finger on, but she intrigued him. Her simple, straightforward views were refreshing. 

Her company had been… He exhaled slowly and put her out of his mind. The likelihood of ever seeing her again was little to none.

The lift arrived and with a quiet bing, the doors opened. Inside, stood the very woman he’d been thinking about. 

Her mouth shaped a surprised ‘O’ before slipping into a smile and moving to the right to admit him. She still wore the sweatshirt, its frayed edges and bleach stains unforgettable. 

“Mr. Gold, what a pleasant surprise!”

He wondered at her use of formality when he clearly recalled giving her his first name; a phenomenon he couldn’t explain but surprisingly didn’t regret.

“Miss French,” he said stepping into the elevator. 

“You are up very early,” she observed, rocking on her heels.

“As are you.”

Belle smiled at him. “I have a reason,” she stated, motioning to a previously missed suitcase beside her.

Gold blinked in surprise. He knew she would be traveling, but the fact still shocked him. A pang of something momentarily struck him before he shook it off and said, “Any place in particular? Back to Australia?”

“Nope!” she refuted, popping her ‘p’. “I’m off to Scotland.”

That caught him off guard. Gold raised his eyebrows. “Really?” his tone conveyed his surprise, but none of the odd mix of nostalgia and repulsion that usually slipped out.

A bubbling laugh fell from her lips. “No, I’m not. It’s on my list, though.”

Something akin to relief that she wouldn’t be able to find anything out about him this far from his disastrous past washed over him. 

“If you aren’t going back home and you aren’t going to Scotland, where are you off to?’

Belle cocked her head and gripped the handle of her suitcase a little harder. “Right now? I’m off to a coffee shop before going to visit my father.”

He didn’t particularly blame her for sidestepping his question. In fact, he rather admired her for it. She answered his question, just not in the way he’d hoped. Gold couldn’t explain why he wanted to know where she was going, but it felt as if there were a tiny strand, no thicker than a spider’s thread, that connected them.

Nodding at her admittance, Gold stared at the numbers ticking away as they lowered to the first floor. It was odd, this desire to keep seeing her, this desire to know her better and not let go. A complete stranger and he still wanted to stay by her.

The lift let out another soft bing to announce their arrival before sliding open. Belle walked out first, her suitcase bumping over the threshold with a little clatter. He followed after her, cane tapping against the hard, tiled floor.

A glance out at the windows showed him a glimmer of light as the sun continued its ascent behind dark clouds still dropping rain.

She was still walking away, wheels rolling over the floor and footsteps silent as she moved towards the door. 

Suddenly, as he watched her stride away, chestnut hair falling into the hood of her lucky sweatshirt, he couldn’t stay where he was.

“Miss French!” he called, hurrying after her, almost momentarily forgetting to use his cane.

She turned, blue eyes wide and waiting with a smile that seemed to linger at the corners of her mouth. 

“Could you, perhaps, use an umbrella to stave off the rain?” Gold almost faltered half way through, courage nearly failing him.

He expected her to turn away in disgust, or at least to politely refuse him. Instead, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

“I am.”

“Are you going my way?”

Gold smiled back at her, the simple question giving him an opening to come along instead of just handing over the umbrella.

“I am.”

“Come along then. I got wet enough yesterday,” she said with a wink and beckoned him to follow along with a wave of her hand. The moment they exited the revolving door, he hurried to open the umbrella and hold it over her head even though they were yet under the overhang. 

She stepped close, keeping her suitcase on her left so as not to hold it between them. The rain had overwhelmed and washed away whatever scent she’d worn before, but now, so close, there was something distinctly floral about her. It wafted from her hair and invaded his senses.

“Do you come here often?” she asked as they stepped off, his feet leading him toward a coffee shop he knew opened early.

Gold had been ready to try and impress her, intimidate her, test her reactions with some pithy comment or sarcastic reply, but when his mouth opened, the truth came out.

“Not as frequently anymore. I dislike being away from my son.”

It didn’t repulse her. Instead, the answer elicited another smile as she asked, “What’s his name?” 

With that question, Gold stepped into the shoes of the proud father. “Baeden,” he answered with a growing grin of his own. “He’s sixteen, just about to start driving. He’s very excited to start. He’s on the younger side of his grade and all his friends have already begun learning.”

“I’d guess he’s a little jealous of them?” Belle prompted him to keep going and he needed no further invitation. For the entirety of their walk to the coffee shop with the rain pattering on the umbrella overhead and light filtering through the full, gray clouds, Gold talked about his son. The hobbies and habits, interests and dislikes, humorous anecdotes and crazy thoughts Bae had come up with, all got mentioned briefly with Belle smiling and laughing at all the right parts, encouraging him to continue.

When they’d arrived, Gold had almost bewilderedly glanced around, wondering how he’d gotten there so quickly and appalled at how he’d rambled on. Opening the door for her then fumbling with umbrella to close  
it before entering himself, he made to apologize.

“Don’t! I loved hearing about your son. It is great to hear how much you care about him. Besides, it was very entertaining. Bae sounds like quite the handful. His mom must be having a blast with him right now.”

The mention of Bae’s mother had always had a sucking effect on Gold. It sapped the color out of the world and the happiness from his soul. It brought anger and resentment in spades. Even now he could feel the familiar burn of distaste simmering in his stomach.

Before he could say anything though, Belle slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes widening in distress. “I am so sorry! That was thoughtless of me. I should never have said anything. It is none of my business.”

Strange how the anger slipped away when he made no effort to cling to it like he normally did. The cloud that had passed over him breezed away as he shook his head.

“It’s alright. It happened a while back; in the past now.”

She eyed him with that scrutinizing stare of hers that seemed to read his mind before nodding. “Right, then I invoke the stranger’s right to A.T.A this conversation and start a new one,” she declared.

Gold blinked at her. “What?” 

“A.T.A.,” she repeated. “Awkward Topic Avoidance.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing.”

Belle shrugged. “Who’s to say it can’t be? All you have to do is take the first letter of your first name, think of five topics that begin with it and pick one to talk about.”

The concept startled a laugh out of him. Grinning, Belle touched his arm to get his attention again, saying, “No, really. Your first name begins with a T. You could say, Tolstoy, Trips, Tea, Ties, or Taxes.”

Each choice egged on this foreign laughter on. “I understand ties, but taxes?” he managed between chuckles. 

She’d begun laughing with him and motioned at his suit. “You have to know something about taxes.” 

“I can’t imagine you’d actually want to talk about taxes,” Gold said dryly, the laughter finally ebbing.

Belle shuddered and shook her head. “You’re right. I regret ever bringing that up as a topic. You’ll talk circles around me.”

“Neither do I wish to bore you on tie choice.”

Pointing at the tie carefully knotted at his throat, Belle said, “I like that one.”

It must have been the early hour preventing his mind from locating rationality and fact in the statement, but the words created a warm sensation in his stomach. He also realized that her little game had been quite effective. Any thoughts of Bae’s mother had vanished under the oddly charming conversation he had. 

“I begin to see the validity this A.T.A,” Gold said, voicing his thoughts on the matter.

Belle beamed as she stepped up to the counter to order. “Works like a charm on those who aren’t aware of it.”

She turned to the bleary-eyed barista and ordered a small cup of coffee. When asked if that was all, she raised her eyebrows at Gold. “Want anything? My treat.”

It was another moment of strange conflict within Gold. Every instinct he had cultivated relating to business told him to just accept it and allow her to walk out with a loss. On the other hand, he desperately desired to impress this woman gazing innocently up at him with cerulean eyes. 

Opening his mouth to protest that he had plenty of money and would gladly pay for her breakfast as well as his own, a reproaching glare replaced her lovely smile.

“Unless you are about to say that you aren’t hungry or are about to order, don’t you dare say a word of protest, Mr. Gold. I am well aware you could pay for this meal a hundred times and not even blink, but this is my gesture, so don’t bother.”

She stood before him with the same finger that had pointed at his tie now nearly prodding at his chest. Her other hand pulled out her wallet and while still glaring at him, slipped out her debit card and handed it over to the barista.

“Now what do you want?” Even in the short while he’d known her, it already felt wrong to hear her irritable. She should be happy, keep that lovely smile on her face to brighten those blue, blue eyes. Instead, here she stood in indignant glory and it truly was rather glorious.

“Um, Ma’am?” the barista inserted hesitantly, limply holding the debit card. “We don’t accept cards. Cash only.”

Belle started. Her hand lowered as her head whipped around to face the barista. “Seriously?”

The girl behind the counter gave a sympathetic shrug. “Sorry.” She handed back the card with a half-smile. 

For a brief moment, Gold thought Belle was about to snap at her, but she took a breath and nodded. As she replaced the card, she raised her eyebrows at him. 

“Well, what do you want?”

Maybe the early hour was still addling his mind, but he felt like he should have been more irritated with her. He hadn’t been spoken back to in such a way for years. Yet, here he stood, watching this woman he’d met not twelve hours earlier fumbling for cash in her purse and instead of taking her reproach personally, he let it go. 

He shook off the strange feeling, reveling in the idea that this trip could end on a much higher note than he could have ever believed. Gold also realized that she’d been rummaging for change for a while.

A smile began to form on his lips as he observed, “I’m beginning to think you don’t have any cash on you.”

Her expression went from irritated to sheepish. She replaced her wallet in her purse and couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. 

“I am very sorry. I have a total of two dollars and some spare Australian change. I am not trying to back out of paying, I promise. I-”

Gold held up his hand, laughing away her words. “Please, allow me.”

He pulled out the wallet from his chest pocket and handed over a twenty. “I’ll have a cup of coffee and a bagel.”

Raising an eyebrow at the flustered woman, he asked, “Would you like something to eat?”

Just as she denied any hunger, her stomach growled. 

“Care to try again?” he said, smirk building quickly.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t want to make you spend more money on me. First the umbrella, now this?”

Gold replaced his wallet before taking a better grip on his cane. “It’s no trouble, really. Get what you want.”

Studying him, Belle seemed to make her decision as she bit her lip and nodded. “Okay, yeah, I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Two coffees and two bagels?” The barista questioned, flicking her tired gaze between the two.

“Correct,” Gold said as he gestured toward a table for them to sit at. He received the change before following Belle and sitting across from her. The confidence he’d just observed seemed to have waned as she fiddled with her hands. 

“I really am sorry.”

“Please don’t be. I have plenty to spend and now a story to tell.”

She eyed him with those blue eyes of hers before nodding as if she’d seen something she’d liked. 

“Alright then, if you’re sure.”

Gold leaned back in his chair, her words drawing a smile from him. “I am.”

“Then tell me something about yourself. You aren’t from Portland, but I don’t think you are visiting from Scotland either.”

It struck him yet again like the lightening crashing in the sky, how observant she really was.

“Is my accent no’ thick enough?” he asked, intentionally roughening his brogue as he spoke the words.

The act drew a giggle from her. “Not entirely. You just seem very familiar with the area.”

“And I don’t live in Portland because I’m staying in a hotel,” Gold finished for her, nodding approvingly. 

She smiled at the barista who’d arrived with their coffee and their bagels and Gold came to the conclusion that she smiled at everyone even if they didn’t do much to earn it.

He watched as she slathered cream cheese on her bagel with a plastic knife before taking a sip of his own coffee. 

Again, it struck him at how strangely calm and at ease he felt in the presence of a stranger. Yet, she didn’t seem like a stranger. She made him feel relaxed, open even. The feeling didn’t last long, however. His phone vibrated in his jacket pocket as coarse an interruption as a jolt of electricity.

“Excuse me just a moment,” Gold pardoned himself as he took out the phone and glanced at the screen. Only years of hiding his feelings kept him from grimacing at the sight of the caller ID.

“Gold,” he answered gruffly after pressing the answer button. 

_“Hey, it’s me, Jefferson,”_ replied the scratchy voice on the line.

Tempted as Gold was to make a snarky comment about caller ID, he glanced warily at Miss French nibbling happily away at her bagel. Clean slates were hard to come by. Even harder to find were interesting clean slates.

“What is it? We already met,” Gold said, settling for a calm, if a bit irate tone considering the hour and the interruption.

_“Yeah, I know, but you told me to let you know if anything ever came up.”_

“Aye, and?”

_“Something’s coming to Maine. Fairly sure all the way to your town, but something’s on its way.”_

Gold digested this with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Specifics?”

He heard a rustle of paper and a muted cough before Jefferson replied, _“Just a few. Enough for concrete evidence though.”_ He paused and could be heard leafing through more pages and muttering a soft curse then returned to the phone saying, _“Yeah, yeah, I got it right here. There is some kind of plan in action going on in Australia. Looks like the two factions over there aren’t getting along. One of them is sending someone over to take care of an issue and the other side is doing the same but in a more protective fashion.”_

Gold waited briefly for farther information before realizing Jefferson was done. “That’s very vague. You have nothing else?”

_“Sorry, Gold. Nothing. If you want to pull some strings on your end, I’m sure a lot more will come up, but I’m guessing you don’t want to go down that particular slippery slope.”_

No, he really did not. Gold had decided that particular conclusion the moment he’d walked away from it all. He had a son now and would do anything to keep him safe.

“Are you sure you don’t have anything else? The littlest detail can be helpful.”

There were more noises of curses and rustling paper before a crow of delight emitted from over the phone. _“Aha!”_ Jefferson exclaimed excitedly. _“Got one more thing. The something they are taking care involves a person. An old man, to be exact.”_

Gold waited for a name, for a description, anything that would help identify this new threat. Jefferson seemed to realize that because in this silence he made a noise that equated a shrug and said, _“Sorry, that’s really it this time. I’ll call when I know more.”_

And that was it. Gold ended the call with a press of his thumb before slipping the phone back into his pocket. He smiled apologetically at the woman before him who raised her eyebrows at him but didn’t press who had been on the line.

The breath of relief he wanted to let out became saved for his coffee, the slow exhale of air forcing the steam to rise up and around him like a veil before dissipating in the blink of an eye.

He already knew he wanted to keep telling this woman the truth. It felt so far removed from his normal deceit that his heart, where previously heavy and strained, was light. The last thing he wanted to do was admit that the man on the other end of the line had been an old colleague in the organized crime sector in Glasgow. 

Gold knew to the root of his bones that admitting he had run with well established, well-run gangs in Scotland, he would never see hide or hair of this creature again.

That was unacceptable. 

And undeniably probable. 

Belle had taken the call in stride, ignoring it in favor of talking about an art museum in Portland. The conversation turned out to be equal parts stimulating and infuriating. They played a verbal game of cat and mouse. Gold strove to uncover something of her personal life, specifically where she was going, and she dodged him at nearly every turn. Without warning at times, she would spin the topic on its head and go after him, searching with equitable eagerness for information about himself.

Each had met their match, however, as vague answers and graceful avoidance rose to the forefront. The time flew by before Belle regretfully glanced at her watch and said, “I have to get back to the hotel so I can start my drive.”

“Which would be to where again?” asked Gold as he stood.

It was the most ham-handed approach he’d used yet. 

Belle shot him an amused smirk. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

“And how will you do that when you have no idea where I live?” Gold pressed, joking facade in place but all seriousness inside.

Belle cocked her head at him before whipping out a sharpie from a pocket and uncapping it. She grabbed his left hand before it could reach the red umbrella dangling from the chair and turned it palm up.

“You,” she said as he watched her write on his hand with a mixture of horror and fascination, “will just have to call me first if you really want to know.”

She drew the last seven on his hand and waved the sharpie at him with a short laugh. Capping it and sticking it back into her pocket, she reached for her suitcase. By the time she turned back to him, he’d already  
entered eight of the digits on his phone. When he’d finished the tenth, he pressed the call button and raised his eyebrows at her expectantly.

Her phone trilled from her back pocket and she tugged it out. Inwardly, Gold breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t think that she would give him a fake number, but he’d wanted to be certain.

“What, did you think I’d give you a fake number?” Belle shook her head and began to save him as a contact with defter fingers than he managed. 

She completed her task first, shoving the device back where it came from and waited for him expectantly.

Slipping his phone back into his jacket, he nodded at the door.

“Shall we?”

“We shall!” her bubbly excitement seemed a mite over the top, but Gold felt ridiculously pleased as he walked out the door. He held the door open and the sound of rain, did not greet them. All was still gray, however and as he stared out at the city, he could see the faint sprinkle still falling from the sky. The sun strained to peek through the thick gray clouds. Dimmed versions of the strong summer rays lit the city streets.

Belle stepped out first, smiling up at the gray sky as she inhaled deeply. She laughed as droplets fell into her eyes and she scurried under the red umbrella he’d opened

She turned to him, bright cerulean eyes gazing at him as she said, “I love the smell when it rains. It’s always so clean and fresh. I take a deep breath and I feel like the earth sighed and relaxed.”

She took another deep breath and Gold turned his head to take a small whiff for himself. It smelled nice, he supposed. Searching for poetry in the little things had never been his forte, but as he sniffed, he felt a calm settle over him. It drew a smile to his lips like he had no choice in the matter. When he glanced at Belle, ready to suggest that they move on, she was watching him with a soft, unreadable expression. 

“Wait a moment,” she requested, fishing her phone out of her back pocket. She fiddled with it for just a moment before switching it to the other hand and stretching out her arm. 

“Smile!”

Bae had done this often enough when he was a child and had discovered a camera on the phone. Gold had never though he looked any good in a picture, but he smiled nonetheless.

After the shot, she checked the photo and wrinkled her nose. “As an artist, I’m going to have to protest not using the umbrella as a backdrop.” She pressed lightly on the rod and he allowed it to move. She extended her arm again and scooched closer to him. Huffing a laugh, Gold looked at her, studying her for just a moment. 

He took in her dainty nose that no longer tinged pink with cold. Blue eyes crinkled as she smiled for the camera and chestnut hair tumbled down around the hood of her sweatshirt that before seemed so unkept now just fit.

He vaguely heard her order a smile again, so he looked back at the camera with the fake simulation of a grin that everyone uses in front of a lens. When she checked the photo again, her reaction was starkly different. Her expression turned soft and her shoulders dropped into a relaxed position.

“This a keeper,” she chirped, after giving the slightest shake to her head and stuffed the phone back into her pocket before he could ask to see it. 

Looping her arm through his, she said quietly, “I love rainy days because they always make me appreciate the sun just a little more.” She wrinkled her nose before commenting, “When the sun does finally come out.”  
She stuck out a hand from under the umbrella’s rim and he could see the glint of liquid on her skin where the water plunked and dropped on her. 

Gold swallowed his surprise at the feel of her fingers pressing against his arm, the touch suitably distracting from the odd moment before. Hesitantly, he began to walk. Keenly aware of the cane he used on his right, he tried to lessen the limp while still keeping it noticeable. He was all too conscience of his left arm bearing both the umbrella and the light pressure of Belle’s hand. Breathing in deeply, he strove to put it aside and enjoy the morning walk. 

They meandered back to the hotel, taking their time and neither rushing the other. Strangely, the silence seemed easy and comfortable. It almost felt right after all their probing and searching in the coffee shop.  
No matter how slowly Gold kept his pace, all too soon the sign for the Marriott crept closer. When they’d arrived at the front of the revolving doors much like they had the previous night, when all had been a pouring deluge of rain and crashing thunder, Gold felt a strange, sinking feeling of loss.

The parking garage is just across the way,” Belle said quietly, her arm still linked through his and her cerulean eyes flicking to the building on the other side of the street. 

"So it is,” Gold replied, his voice equally hushed in the morning silence. 

"You should know I’m terrible at goodbyes.”

Another quiet statement she made with her arm still looped through his. He heard the ring of honesty in the words, but he shook his head, refusing her unspoken farewell. He’d been left too many times before without so much as an adieu.

“Say it anyway,” he said and wondered if she could hear the plea in his voice. He heard it as clear as he could hear the patter of rain against the umbrella.

A flash of something crossed her face before it was chased away with a brilliant smile. “I’ll see you later!”

“Say it properly,” Gold ordered with all seriousness and sincerity, laughter stolen away by this goodbye. 

Her face softened and she nodded. “Goodbye, Mr. Torquil Gold.”

Her voice, clear and strong, now almost seemed to waver. With satisfaction, he tucked his cane under his arm so he could have limited use of his right hand. Taking her hand that rested on his arm, he gently  
removed it and held it for a moment.

“Goodbye, Miss Belle French.”

He wrapped her hand around the curved handle of the umbrella before dropping both his hands and replacing the cane on the ground.

“You make this seem very final, Mr. Gold,” she observed, searching eyes scanning his face. “You have my number; will you call me?”

“I will.”

“Then why does this seem so permanent?”

“I don’t expect I’ll ever see you again,” he answered simply. 

“I don’t put much stock in expectations,” she declared beginning to turn away, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I find myself constantly surprised.”

She turned away and crossed the street. The rain settled on his shoulders, a dusting like dew collecting on the fabric.

Belle turned back to him when she’d mounted the side walk with her short suitcase beside her. She gave a little wave before disappearing into the parking garage. Out of sight but not out of mind. 

He stayed where he was, the rain drizzling around him. For a moment, he wondered if he would stay until he watched her drive away when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

I’ll see you again, Torquil.

A second text came and it was the picture of the two of them smiling at the camera. It took some fiddling and a brief curse, but Gold managed to save the photo as her contact picture – the only one that had one besides Bae.

As he opened up his jacket, feeling the fibers beginning to dampen with the falling moisture, the phone alerted him with another text.

_It’s Killian. – J_

Gold cursed.


	2. Clouds Rolling

If Storybrooke could be called a blip on a map, that would still be too much credit for the tiny little costal town in Maine. As small as it was, however, to Torquil Gold, it was home. It rarely changed. Happy townspeople went about their day without much thought to the world outside. Children grew older and walked about like miniature copies of their parents. Even the weather strove to find normality, it seemed. The seasons all brought their own quirks at the same time every year. Every Summer, nearing the end of August, Autumn would creep in and touch the leaves to turn them to red and gold. The south wind puffed his cheeks and blew gentle, crisp winds in the early morning and late evening. 

As Gold drove home, the double yellow lines a thing of the main roads he’d left behind after crossing the town line, his thoughts were torn between eagerness to see his son and memories of the woman he’d left in Portland.

There was a constant reminder of her scrawled on his palm in permanent marker. One quick flip and her number would stare back at him challengingly. He could almost hear it taunt, _Will you call her, coward? She doesn’t want to hear from you, you monster._

Needless to say, the ride was not the most pleasant. Gold slowed to a halt before the only traffic light in Storybrooke, the light shining a dull red. Exhaling a pent-up breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Gold wondered if he should even think about calling her. His past, a horrid unmentionable thing, risked the danger of coming up. And then where would he be?

Gazing out the window, waiting patiently for the green light, Gold surveyed the town. His town, if one ignored the presence of the mayor – something of which he did on a daily basis. He’d heard it whispered on the streets, a nickname a younger version of himself would have adored: Beast. The Beast of Storybrooke.

Strange how so much can change in a town that never does. He much preferred the moniker his young son had given him: Papa.

Someone tapped a knuckle against the glass pane of the passenger window. It startled Gold, but a quick look revealed his son grinning at him and pointing at the lock. Reaching over, Gold stretched out his arm to pull up the lock and open the door. 

“Hey, Pops, going my way?” Bae laughed and moved the cane from where it rested so he could sit. 

“You’ll be pleased to know that the house still stands with minimal fire damage and no signs of a party,” Bae said as he closed the door just short of a slam.

It was strange how the presence of someone so precious could alleviate worry and stress. The boy had a remarkable ability to peer beyond Gold’s cool exterior and recognize internal quandary’s. A skill he’d been developing over the years, Bae often took it upon himself to drag Gold away from dismal reminisces and into a lighter mood. 

“Hey, son.” Gold pulled out of the intersection and it felt as if a darker shadow of himself had been left behind and something brighter went forward in its place. 

“What? You aren’t going to ask me about the fire damage? Or how that clearly could be a sign of a party?” Bae prodded with a wide smile as he idly twisted his father’s cane between his hands.

A side-long look at the boy included Gold in the jest. “Should I be concerned for my kitchen?”

“Nah, I just accidentally burned a file from your office.”

“Not enough kindling in the refrigerator?” Gold slowed to a stop at yet another stop sign and took the opportunity to portray faux sympathy as he asked, “Did you eat through most of it?”

Gasping in fake affront, Bae placed a hand on his heart and shook his head. “Of course not! I’m fairly sure that there is at least one lemon left in there along with a stick of butter.”

“You are completely out of food, aren’t you,” Gold accused, seeing through theatrics. Slumping, Bae nodded forlornly. “That study group you said I could have ate through a chunk of it. I had to go to Granny’s this morning for breakfast.”

Gold nodded and pulled the Cadillac out. They were nearing home and the desire to sit and read in his library was growing stronger at an alarming rate.

“The housekeeper should have brought in the groceries for this week,” Gold recalled thoughtfully. “Do you want to cook something or order in?”

“Order in. I’m in a pizza mood,” Bae decided, and they fell into silence until Gold pulled up to the house. He took the proffered cane and stepped out. Bae popped open the trunk and pulled out his father’s duffel bag before closing it and snagging out the suit lying on the backseat. 

“How was your trip?” he asked as they made their way to the house.

The first word that sprung to his lips was 'interesting' and the second, 'nothing'. He settled for a shrug and took out the key for the house. It meant that he stretched out his left hand, the other occupied with the cane. It meant that Bae clearly saw the number drawn on his palm as he fumbled with the keys.

“Is that a phone number?” It might not have been so bad if Bae hadn’t practically crowed with delight.

As the door swung open on its hinges, Gold frowned at his hand like it had committed the ultimate sin and betrayed him.

“It’s possible,” Gold replied slowly before rolling his eyes and stepping into the house. 

“It is, isn’t it!” Bae exclaimed hurrying in after him. “That’s a phone number! Whose phone number did you get? What was her name?”

The rapid-fire questions served equally to make Gold cringe and laugh at his son’s eagerness. Even so, it was still a feeling of relief. Incessant questions with an eagerness born out of love and sincere interest always felt like a sigh of relief when he returned home.

Gold settled for ignoring his son’s questions as he walked to the kitchen in search of the take-out menus.

“Come on, tell me! What was her name? Are you going to see her again? Are you going to call her?”

“Bae, it was nothing,” Gold said in an attempt to appease his son.

“It’s on your hand! You would never let anyone write anything on your hand.”

Gold waved the menu he’d pulled out of the drawer under Bae’s nose. “Take the bags upstairs and let me order dinner in peace. Maybe then I’ll tell you.”

Bae squinted at him scrutinizingly before nodding and turning abruptly on his heel. As he walked away toward the steps he called out, “I want to know details!”

“You’ll get what I tell you,” Gold muttered before starting in on the call.

Bae came down swiftly, but his father avoided giving out answers until the pizza arrived and was set on the dining table.

Gold waited for Bae to sink his teeth into the slice of pizza before saying, “Her name is Belle French. I met her quite by accident in Portland and had an interesting conversation with her.”

Eyes widening, Bae spoke around a mouthful of food, “And? Does she live nearby?”

“Don’t speak with your mouthful,” Gold corrected, hiding a grin behind a disapproving parental glare.

Swallowing with a gulp, Bae asked, “Are you going to call her?” 

Gold held off the question by taking a bite of his own slice, mulling over the question himself. He wanted in equal parts to speak with her again and avoid the potential pain letting someone in could cause. He’d had enough suffering to last him two life times with no intention of going through it again.

“Well I think you should, even if it isn’t to ask her out.” Bae studied his pizza, folding it in half length wise as he continued, “I think you need more friends.”

“I’m fairly sure that’s supposed to be my line to you.”

“Yes, well, as a parent you did a wonderful job raising a socially adept child. I still think you   
need someone else you can talk to that isn’t me and occasionally Mr. Nolan.”

Glaring at his son, he motioned to the folded pizza. “Eat your food,” he ordered with a scowl. Bae just laughed and dropped the subject. 

But, Gold’s mind refused to let it go.

It sounded so childish, searching for a friend. In his old line of work, all friends were potential enemies ready to backstab and betray at the mention of the almighty dollar. 

Those qualities didn’t seem to be something that Belle possessed. Sincerity and upfront honesty, perhaps, but never the opposite.

The meal went by quickly as did the rest of the evening. He spent the waning hours of daylight in his office, staring down at words on a page his fingertips fiddled with but eyes never read. 

Gold pondered calling her, his fingers itching to pull out his phone and put the mystery of the woman to rest, but he stopped himself. If she wished to contact him, then the proverbial ball was squarely in her court. 

Biting back a sigh, he closed the book, tapped it thoughtfully with a thumb before clambering out of the armchair and starting toward the door. He froze when his right hand went for the door knob unencumbered by his cane. 

Cursing under his breath at his uncharacteristic lapse, he walked back to where it leaned against the chair, limp exaggerated. But beneath the cotton pant leg, the right knee he pretended to favor remained deceptively strong. 

Gold shambled up the stairs, his slow ascent more from exhaustion then the fake injury. Deceit, he knew, was in his nature, down to the marrow in his bones, but he reproached himself for choosing a disability so inconvenient and burdensome. 

_Too late now_ , he thought as he reached his bedroom and shuffled in. He could only hope that the deception would never have to be of use. He could only pray that he would never be in a situation where an enemy underestimating him would discover that his leg worked fine and that Gold was no tame old dog but a snarling wolf ready to fight for its territory.

**~~~***~~~**

Gold awoke that morning as he usually did: a cold sweat on his brow and a hand reaching for a gun sequestered away in his nightstand. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, chasing away sluggishness he felt from sleep. Moving with sure steps, he did not place the cane on the ground until he stood before the window, heavy curtain closed. Faintly, he could hear a quiet roar and even as he reached out a hand to tug the shade aside, he knew gray skies and glass pain blurry with water awaited him. 

The storm, it seemed, had followed him north. Heaving a sigh that could have been mistaken for a grumble, he released the fabric and contemplated taking the car or walking through the steady rain. 

That brought to mind the red umbrella securely in the hands of his new acquaintance. He wondered if the gray clouds stretched to block her view of the sun. 

He rather hoped not.

The morning went by quickly, the sharp bite of coffee less effective than the icy shards of water he subjected himself to in the shower. His hair brushed his neck like the touch of a feather as he stared thoughtfully into the pit of warm blackness, steam kissing his nose as he lifted the mug to take a sip, closing his eyes in quiet appreciation in the silence of the early morning.

As disruptive and disturbing as the nightmares were, he hoarded the morning emptiness to himself, even time un-spared the grasp of his miserly grasp. Here, within the walls of his home as the sun awoke with more sluggishness each morning, subjecting the world to darkness for a few moments longer, he could contemplate and breathe before the day crashed over him with a roar and carried him relentlessly to the equally dangerous shores of sleep. 

Today, however as he lifted his gaze to the first glimmer of light peeking through the dark silhouettes of the trees on his property shifting as if heaving a sigh, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

It happened more frequently than he would have like to admit, an existential crisis smacking him like the very anchors he used to weigh long ago. Could it even be called a crisis anymore? How many times did he have to question everything he’d done before it ceased being a crisis and just settled into a chronic problem?

Gold did what he always did when he woke up on a morning feeling remorseful and panging with regret: he looked up in the general direction where his son lay fast asleep in bed, sprawled on tangled sheets without a worry in the world tearing him from guiltless sleep.

He did whatever he did for Bae. His past was past now and nothing would come of fretting over it. Constantly, his son pushed him to be a better man. He could be one for him. 

Inhaling deeply, the warm and inviting scent of coffee pulling him out his reverie, Gold ran a hand through his hair and glared at the cane leaning against the counter.

“Of all the choices,” he muttered before taking the coffee in his left hand and the cane in his right. As the month came to an end, there were contracts to be revisited and all his temporary accounts needed to be balanced and closed. Walking away, his thoughts traitorously turned from his past to a woman on the other end of a phone someplace.

It was an odd sensation, the sudden urge to talk to her. He doubted she would be awake even were she to pick up the phone were he to call. 

His phone buzzed as he neared his office and he waited until he was able to put his coffee down on a coaster that provided protection for the deep cherry-red, wooden desk. He slipped the phone from his dress pants pocket, his suit jacket still hanging in his closet, and looked at it. The notification bar told him he had a new message.

From Belle.

_‘Hey, I meant send you a text the other night to thank you again for breakfast, but when I arrived, I sat down and woke up three hours later. Oops! I don’t know if you are normally an early riser, but I thought I’d break the ice and send you a text.’_

He stared at it in partial astonished shock before formulating a reply that he deleted and redid a few times before sending, _‘It was my pleasure. I hope you arrived without any trouble.’_

Then he set the phone down and sat behind his desk where he continued to watch the device. It took a moment, but it vibrated loudly against the wood of the table and he hurried to pick it up and read the message.

_‘Oh, you are awake! I hope I didn’t wake you. It wasn’t a bad drive. I think the rain followed me.’_

The habit was reflexive, the narrowing of her location in his mind, eliminating distance by cloud coverage. 

He had a rough estimate in his head and it took a considerable amount of willpower to not find out with certainty. He wanted to ask, to know where she stayed, but his response was much different than he’d expected. His thumbs typed out a message he both wished to take back and felt relief that he could not.

_‘May I call?’_

He wondered how often he could feel such nervousness around this woman. Three simple words and his heart beat a little faster.

 _‘I wish you would.’_ Came the reply shortly after.

He dialed, held the phone up to his ear, and listened as it rang on the other end.

 _“Hello!”_ Her bright and cheery voice was clear over the line. _“I’m so glad someone else is up at this hour.”_

Somehow, someway, her voice relaxed him, and he sank into his chair and replied, “If you are in a city, I’m sure you can find someone.”

_“Are you trying to figure out where I am again?”_

“Too obvious?”

Her laughter caused him to smile. _“I would have thought telling you it was raining would have been plenty for a sharp mind like yours.”_

He snorted and said, “Oh, yes, that’s likely. Something that stretches for miles pinpoints your location precisely. Thank you, I’ll see you in person tomorrow.”

_“Didn’t help, huh?”_

“You’re still in Maine,” he offered.

_“All you got?”_

“Essentially, yes.”

Belle chuckled, and he could hear her moving around across the line.

_“I could give you a hint, if you want.”_

“Please.”

_“I’m in a small town.”_

Gold sat still and closed his eyes. He felt familiar frustration, but it mixed oddly with the playful nature of the conversation.

“You do realize how many small towns there are in Maine, don’t you?”

 _“What? There aren’t many are there?”_ she exclaimed with faux ignorance.

“Your sarcasm is appreciated and equally unhelpful.”

She laughed, and the sound drowned out the rain pattering against his window pane. It was like the world went quiet, like it stilled from her voice. Suddenly the knowing did not seem so bad, nor did it plague him with every word she spoke. He continued talking to her, the banter softening when he decided to let the topic of discovery go. 

Maybe because of her mystery, it made it easier to talk to her. Strangers, perhaps, were easier to speak to than those closest. 

When he finally looked at the clock hanging on his wall, hands ticking quietly, he realized they’d been talking for an hour.

He heard a voice rumble in the background too distant for words. Belle gave a little start, requested him to hold, then carried a muted conversation he could not quite make out.

 _“I have to go,”_ she said when she came back on the line. _“Can I talk to you later?”_

Gold surprised himself at how readily the answer jumped to his tongue. “Of course. If you ever find yourself awake early in the morning, I’m around.” 

He could hear the little giggle she gave as she was about to hang up and startled himself again when he called a little louder, “Wait!”

 _“Yes?”_ Her voice came across and he nearly sighed with relief.

“Give me one more clue.”

Belle hummed in thought before seeming to come to a decision. 

_“Okay. But just this last one. You are on your own after this.”_

Gold waited impatiently, thumb tapping on the arm of his chair.

 _“I’m in a little costal town with a homey diner and a library and maybe only one stoplight. Good enough?”_   
“No?”

 _“Shame,”_ she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. _“I’ll talk to you again soon.”_

The words made Gold surge forward in his chair as if an act from miles away could somehow prevent her from hanging up.

“Wait!” he cried out again. “Wait.”

_“Yes?”_

“Say it properly.”

 _“Mr. Gold,”_ she said, mild exasperation coloring her voice.

He shook his head and refused to hear her out. “Say it properly.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, almost somber in its weight. Finally, she said softly, much like she had before, _“Goodbye, Torquil Gold.”_

“Goodbye,” he returned, just short of a whisper as the words floated over his tongue quietly, reverently.

He hung up the phone and stared at it for a short while, feeling the weight of it in his hand. Reflecting on his words and actions, he passed a hand through his hair, struggling to comprehend what had come over him. He had never felt so strongly, so passionately about a farewell. It was as if he needed the closure, the knowledge that she said goodbye so that if he never spoke to her again it wouldn’t matter.

The morning hours dragged by as his mind remained torn between Belle and his work. It was only when he heard the footsteps slumping down the steps did he truly realize the time. There was rustling in the kitchen as Bae foraged for food and a few minutes later, the boy poked a disheveled head into the office.

Bae’s hair stood up at odd angles, and his eyes looked bleary with sleep. At the sight of a welcoming smile which Gold wasn’t sure Bae saw with his eyes half closed, the boy came in and plopped himself into the comfortable chair in front of his father’s desk.

“Mornin’,” Bae mumbled while adjusting his bowl of cereal in his hands as he crossed his legs on the wide chair. Gold was impressed he could still manage that particular feat, long and lanky as his son had grown.

“Morning. Sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” Bae said before taking a bite and crunching loudly. He wiped his lip with his thumb and glanced around the office.

“Got any plans today?” he asked after swallowing.

“The usual. Furthering my education, working on my project, and finding something to eat every few hours.”

Gold leaned back in his chair and gave an older, but still exact, replica of the lopsided grin Bae was throwing his way.

“A normal day, then?”

Bae nodded as he took another lazy bite before his eyes flew open and he made a noise of protest.

“No!” he exclaimed around a mouthful of cornflakes, “I’m goin’ to the library!”

Gold scrunched his eyebrows together and shot him a skeptical look. Considering the boy’s appalling lack of interest in books he felt tempted to ignore the sudden toss of manners out the window.

“The library? Whatever for?”

“What, a guy can’t want to self-educate once in a while?” Bae replied cheerfully before taking another bite.

Gold leaned back in his chair. “Which class is it for?”

Bae grinned. “Not this time. It’s for my project.”

“The cottage sketch?”

“Yep. I ran into a snag and I want to see if there is anything on fixing it.”

For the past two years, Bae had been coming into his own. He had started with little trinkets, tiny projects that he designed of a grander thing but in the miniscule. He’d slowly begun to build his way up to designing small buildings. Sketch upon sketch and drawing upon drawing of towering skyscrapers and cozy cottages littered his room, hanging proudly on the walls and edges poking out of countless sketchbooks.

“What’s the issue?”

Bae rose slightly in his seat to tug a folded slip of paper out of his pocket. Before he handed it to his father, he waved it in the air, chewing faster to swallow before saying, “I ran into a structural problem. I couldn’t find anything specific on the internet, believe it or not.” 

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Aside from that, my second issue is that I ran out of popsicle sticks to build this thing.”

Chuckling as he unfolded the paper, Gold replied, “That, at least, I can help you with.” He squinted at the paper. 

The sketch alone was beautiful. Crisp clear lines brought a cozy design together. Creeping vines crept up shaded stone walls, stretching for the detailed shingled roof. Bae had even included a glimpse of some scenery about the house, with tall trees and the outline of leaves. Below it were a few outlines of foundation and internal structure designs. Notes sat scribbled on the edges in Bae’s spidery handwriting.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with it,” Gold commented with the creepings of a proud smile.

“Well, the math isn’t coming out and I’m fairly sure the whole thing would come crumbling down if a rockslide occurred.” Bae took back the paper, refolded it, and stuffed it back in his pocket. “I was hoping the library would have some condensed information along with photos of their work that I can work off of.”

“Well, it is rumored that libraries have books.”

Bae looked at him from across the desk. “Is that the rumor these days? And here I was thinking that the biggest news of the week was the arrival of a school librarian.”

Gold raised his eyebrows. “They have a librarian now?”

“It’s all the rage in the other school libraries.”

“If they all have one, then obviously we need one too.”

“I’ll bet that’s exactly what they said at the city council meeting.”

Gold scoffed. “I wouldn’t put it past them, for all the load of drivel they come up with.”

Bae shrugged and swallowed the last bite of cereal. “Anyway, I’ll see you after my library trip.”

Gold nodded. “Are you walking to school?”

“Are you walking to the shop?” Bae asked and when he received an affirmative gesture, he answered, “Yeah, I’ll walk. Might as well enjoy the last of this weather while I can.”

Gold gave a grunt of assent and the two sat in silence, the conversation sufficiently ended. Bae ruffled his hair in an attempt to tame it as he absently pushed his spoon across his bowl. He stared a little longer at nothing, eyes slowly blinking as his fingers combed through the thick head of hair which only served to make it worse.

The longer Gold watched him, the longer Bae’s eyes remained closed. When the empty bowl of cereal began to slip from his fingers and Bae began to breathe heavily, Gold called his name just a touch short of a shout.

His son woke up with a start, barely saving the cereal as he jerked up. 

“I’m awake, I’m awake!” Bae declared as he attempted to save face by using the built up momentum to heave himself up off the chair. He hid a yawn behind his hand and shuffled away without a further word.

Gold chuckled to himself and turned back to his work as he waited patiently until it was time to go to work. 

**~~~***~~~**

Many things could be said about Torquil Gold. In fact, many things were said about him, whispers as he passed by on the street or angry shouts of frustration behind his back by the people of Storybrooke. The town, a place that felt old and without beginning, had entered a period where much of the land was unowned or being sold. Gold’s arrival had been quiet and unthreatening. By the time the town realized what had entered their midst, it was too late to dislodge him. He had bought up, piece by piece, real estate and shops until he owned most of the town itself and those who did not owe rent, owed something. It became clear that he abided by a ruthless, unbending policy where it concerned his contracts. Every promise he made, every dotted line he signed was upheld to the fullest. Loopholes were nowhere to be found and the only relief that the people truly felt concerned his utterly neutral standpoint. As long as the people did not bother him, he did not bother them. 

Gold was called many unflattering things. His origins rumored to vary from the Highlands of Scotland to the very depths of a raging inferno filled with demons and evil spirits. In the end, there were two things that the townspeople agreed upon: He was a right bastard and he loved his son. 

When they walked together, Gold’s hand wrapped firmly around his cane and Bae’s stuffed in his pockets, there was a lightness to the father that could never be seen anywhere else.

It half frightened the townspeople. 

The only respite Gold seemed to have was the early morning walk he made to his shop each day. Too few people roamed the streets at that hour and those that did maintained a steady income that prevented them of having to deal with Gold on a constant basis.

Gold opened the shop without incident. He ran his hand over the glass counter with a quiet sigh. This shop, this place represented peace to him. Something calming and relaxing after years of tension and fear. He tapped a finger on the pane as he allowed a soft smile to cross his features. Roving his gaze over the shop, each piece still in place since he last touched it, he nodded once in satisfaction before glancing at the door and sequestering himself away in the backroom to complete repairs a variety of garments that had fallen into his hands. He settled himself in a chair with a needle and thread as he analyzed the pieces critically. Some he set aside to throw away, others he touched, thumbing the fabric to feel for the texture. When he picked one up he liked, he stuck his fingers through the hole on the shoulder and readied his thread. The moment he fell into a rhythm, his thoughts wandered. 

Life here was good. There could be no doubt in his mind that he remained happy here in the middle of nowhere with his son by his side. However, the boy kept growing older. Bae was sixteen now and driving. Everything had changed when he’d come out of the DMV clutching the newly issued permit to his chest. Slowly, Gold felt forced to come to terms with the fact that Bae would be leaving for college soon. The blasted boy wanted to go to New York. The hundreds of miles between Maine and the Empire State were a bit excessive and something he tried not to think about. 

But he had too. As much as Gold liked the peace and quiet of the small hamlet he’d stumbled across, Gold was much fonder of his son. Tempted to follow him to New York as he was, Gold had the sinking feeling that his son would dislike that particular notion. 

Independence remained important. Gold knew that. He just wanted to stay near his son.

With a low sigh, Gold switched to a different shirt, absently wiggling his finger through one of the holes. 

Did all parents feel like this? Did all parents worry for their child’s safety? Gold doubted that many concerned themselves with the things that he did, with the things that he’d seen. The world was full of danger and Gold wanted to protect his son as long as possible.

With a low sigh, Gold poked the needle through the shirt and began to mend that one as well. He worked mindlessly for an hour before feeling the stiffness that comes from remaining in one position for too long. Mumbling a complaint, he set down the needle and thread before bracing his hands on the work bench and standing gingerly. Subtly stretching out his limbs with a wince, he then shambled to a glass of water sitting inconveniently on the other side of the room. His cane, an ebony shaft of wood with a brass handle that curved comfortably into his palm and allowed his fingers to curl around it supportively, leaned against the bookcase. 

He clasped his right hand around the handle just as the small bell dangling above the front shop door jingled as someone swung it open. While not opposed to customers, Gold found himself in a mood to not particularly desire their prattling company and his calm neutral expression intensified as he turned his sharp nose up in distaste as he emerged from behind the thin curtain separating the shop front and back.

“Dad, hey! I brought lunch. Stopped by Granny’s after the library trip.”

Gold’s face brightened considerably at the sight of his son. The beginnings of a condescending sneer evaporated as he stepped toward the register counter, the glass case containing a number of ornate objects.

“Excellent. However, it smells like varnish in the back. If you don’t mind, we can eat here behind the counter. Flip the sign, Bae?”

Bae awkwardly balanced the library books and the bag of food before having to juggle the two in an attempt to turn over the sign. Striding towards the counter, he dumped his load on top, grinning triumphantly at his father.

“I’ll grab the other stool, Pops. Pull out the food?”

He didn’t wait for an affirming nod as he scurried to grab the other stool in the back. Gold pulled out two Styrofoam containers and placed them on the glass. Setting out the napkins, he perched himself on the stool and rested his cane between his legs. Waiting for his son to reappear with stool in hand, he glanced at the pile of books resting on top of each other. Picking up the top book, he read the title with noted interest. _Killer Angles_ by Michael Shaara. He took another look at the others again. A combination of modern architecture, engineering basics, and a literature commentary stood thick and long. The book in his hand, however, remained starkly as both fiction and on the American Civil War. When Bae set the curtain swaying as he emerged from the backroom, Gold raised an eyebrow at him and lifted the book in silent question. 

“Oh, yeah, that,” Bae started as he set down the stool with a thump by his father. “The woman who helped me find my books asked if I was getting anything for fun. She seemed to take it personally when I said I didn’t like reading. So, she asked me a bunch of questions on things I liked and then recommended this book. I’m actually kind of excited to finish it.”

Gold stopped mid bite, staring at his son who had taken the book back from him. 

“You started it already?”

“Yeah, it is surprisingly really interesting. I’ve had a fascination with the Civil War for a while, but this author made it into something that isn’t dry and boring.” Bae set down the book and started in on his hamburger with all the gust a teenage boy could manage. It also meant any conversation was over as the meal practically got inhaled. 

The boy chewed cheerfully and Gold contemplated that as odd as it was for Bae to enjoy reading, he was still his pride and joy. If he had stayed in Glasgow, this domesticity might never had happened and that thought alone created an even greater appreciation for his situation.

“Mind if I hang out here for the rest of today? I have to get started on my homework before I can work on my project and I thought I might as well keep you company,” Bae asked as he wiped the crumbs from his fingers. 

That type of a request always drew out a genuine smile from Gold. 

“You know you don’t have to ask.” He nodded at the small mess they had created and the two cleaned up after themselves before relocated into the workshop. Bae settled into a corner of the bench closest to the window to start in on homework and Gold applied himself to the shirts again, carefully sewing each hole. 

Belatedly, a thought occurred to Gold. Resting the shirt in his lap with the needle already tugged through, he asked, “Wait, what woman?”

Bae looked up at him eyebrows raised in surprise. “You know, the stranger in town. The one everyone is talking about?”

Gold frowned, but nodded. He didn’t ask the name, deciding he didn’t want to distract his son any further. He decided to search for the name at a later time. He took up the needle and shirt and began to tug it through again.

After five minutes of dead silence and another shirt finished, he frowned at his son. Uncharacteristically silent, his head remained bowed over the book. Squinting, he compared the size of it to the rest. 

Well, at least one thing hadn’t changed: He still procrastinated. Bae intently read _Killer Angels_ and by all appearances, he enjoyed it as well. The occurrence, enjoying the act of reading, both rare and relieving, made him reject the idea of reprimanding Bae for not concentrating on his project. As a father, however, he spoke up anyway.

Looking up at his father’s blunt accusation, Bae grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, but this book is intriguing. I honestly don’t want to put it down.”

“Alright,” Gold said, deciding that if the boy who normally so detested the idea of reading couldn’t put a book down, then far be it from him to force him at that very moment.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Gold’s famous words perked Bae’s ears and the boy tore his attention away from the pages to listen. “I’ll close the shop to run an errand. You can read here until I get back. But when I do, you must start your project.”

Bae nodded eagerly and returned to his book, so engrossed that he didn’t ask the destination. Rolling his eyes, Gold snagged his cane and suit jacket before ambling out after squeezing Bae’s shoulder. 

Delightfully sunny, the warm summer rays enticed a cheerful breeze to toy with the trees. It coursed gently over the streets of Storybrooke, flicking at hair on passersby and rippling over their clothes. Mr. Gold passed beneath Marco, the Italian fixer-upper, as he stood on a ladder repairing a sign with a muttered curse. The Nolans walked passed, their daughter, Emma skipping ahead, full of youth and vitality as her long blonde hair streamed after her. Dr. Hopper nudged his Dalmatian with his leg, pushing the spotted creature away from the lamp post it sniffed curiously. 

As he walked, appreciating the reprieve from the stifled shop, he noted with hint of pleasure the normality of the scene. What clinched it, was the way the brightness seemed to dim as he stepped closer. Renters, borrowers, generally ordinary townspeople, looked away as he walked by. Mother Superior, striding along with her nuns hurrying along like ducklings sniffed her nose at him, but she too refused to look him in the eye. 

His persona had been cultivated to inspire fear. It went so far as to encourage those who still owed him something to cross the street when they saw him walking down the street, cane tapping rhythmically against the cement like an ominous clock. Many refused to look him in the eye as he strode by. Some, the few and far between, were courageous enough to nod their head at him if they accidentally caught his gaze. Those were usually the ones who owed him nothing and new him by name only. 

The walk to the library beneath the clock tower, then, progressed much as it always did. One man hurried across the street when he saw Gold striding in the distance, most ducked their heads as they passed, conversations muted for the few seconds it took to walk by. None looked at him, however. He supposed that select group hunched over their desks, hard at work so they would never fall into his clutches. All in all, it restored normality to the normal day made odd by Bae’s sudden interest in reading.

The clock tower stood before him, slowly ticking the time away. It loomed, reminder that time still went on in a town that never changed. The windows on the sides of the building allowed peeks and hints of bookshelves within. He let himself in when he reached the door at the base. While he’d been an advocate for the opening of the library, he hadn’t set foot in it since its grand opening six months previous. His own personal collection yet contained a number that he had yet to even open, busy as he was quietly owning the town he lived in. Now, however, he found himself curious to see what magician lay within that could convince his literary wayward child to voluntarily open a book.

The library strayed from florescent lights, it seemed. Well-lit with lamps giving off soft yellow glows, nary a book strayed into darkness. Shelves hugged the walls, books filling each space until none remained. Stacks towered within the library, some creating the illusion of a room and others creating hallways and nooks and crannies. Large enough for a few actual rooms, walls had been erected for the sake of organization. Signs hanging by near invisible lines were artfully designed to label sections. Precise, efficient, and tasteful, the library pronounced itself a refuge from the world around it. Stepping into it, Storybrooke seemed to vanish and all that remained was a sanctuary with thousands of doors to someplace else. 

He immediately noted Mrs. Potts, the town librarian perched on a stool behind the front desk. He acknowledged her presence with a flick of his eyes and continued in his pursuit of finding the mystery woman within. Gold entered a few of the rooms, perusing the classics and snorting at the smattering of romance novels that stood on the shelves with gaping holes between some implying the amount borrowed by the small town. Turning away, he continued his search for the woman. She wasn’t in the children’s room he poked his head into and she was nowhere to be found by the front desk.

Satisfied that his search was thorough when he exited the fiction room with no luck, he made his way to the elderly woman reading with her glasses on a string perched low on her nose. 

“Mrs. Potts,” he began, the crocodile smile he was famous for tugging at one end of his mouth, “I believe I need your assistance with a small matter.”

The woman looked up sharply and a brief grimace crossed her face before she plastered on an indulgent smile and raised her eyebrows expectantly. 

“I’m looking for a woman who was here earlier. She helped my son find a collection of books.”

Mrs. Potts peered at him, as if searching for a reason to not answer his question. When he braced his left arm on the counter, he watched as she visibly caved.

“Oh, yes. I remember she had lovely brown hair. I didn’t catch her name, but she was very knowledgeable about the different literature we have here.”

“Anything else?” Gold pressed, “Any idea where she went to, where she is from?”

Hesitantly, Mrs. Potts answered, “She had an accent, but I don’t quite remember where from. It was certainly foreign.”

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and stared at him. He knew then he wouldn’t get anything else out of her. “Anything else, Mr. Gold?”

“No. You’ve been quite helpful.” He pushed himself off the desk and limped out. There was a sting of disappointment, but it couldn’t be helped. As he stepped outside the library, a cool breeze drifting through the air to ruffle his hair, he wondered which way she went: Left or right. Just as he was about to go back to the pawnshop, he saw the familiar confident strut of the mayor coming down that way. 

The mayor, Regina Mills, was a thorn in his side that he couldn't remove. No one knew about her mother - although if Regina was a thorn in his side, her mother had been a gaping wound - and it was certainly not something he would be sharing anytime soon. 

It would be an exercise in futility to out pace her with his cane, but he would attempt it nonetheless. His loathing for her made it worth the extra effort to go the long way ‘round to the pawnshop. 

Familiar scowl making its way to twist his lips, he held his head high as he attempted to make it look like he wasn’t running away.

“Mr. Gold!”

He cursed.

“Wait a minute if you would!”

Gold slowed down his pace, but still kept moving. He was forced to stop when her clacking heels paused in front of him, placing her squarely in his path.

“There something I can help you with, dearie? Something you need to get off your chest?” 

She didn’t respond to his growled question but with a sly smile. “Actually, yes. I hoped you knew something about the newcomer in town.”

As defensive as he got whenever he smelled the overwhelming perfume wafting from her neck, the question gave him pause.

“The woman? I wouldn’t worry, dearie. I’m sure she’s of no threat to you.” He cocked his head and grinned, “Unless your hold on the mayorship is so fragile that it would be of concern to you.”

She threw him a disgusted look. “Please. I just like to make certain that the townspeople are safe from villains and criminals alike.”

Gold made a show of checking his watch. “And in what universe do you live in that criminals aren’t villains?”

“Come now,” she cajoled, hands folded primly in front of her. “You can’t tell me that you aren’t concerned whenever a newcomer comes through.”

He was, but it she had no business knowing exactly how paranoid he remained on a daily basis. 

“Dearie, the day that a woman has me discussing plans to rid myself with her will be a low day indeed. Now, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way.” He stepped around her neatly, calling over his shoulder, “Good day, Madame Mayor.”

He ended up going the long way back to the pawnshop, attempting to enjoy the cool Summer day, but his eyes continued to rove for a glimpse of the woman. He saw nothing. No flashes of brown hair flicking around a corner, nor any unfamiliar faces.

Perhaps it was for the best. He already had one female distraction in his life. He certainly did not need a second. 

Gold spent the rest of the day wading through numbers and words, pinching the bridge of his nose before diving back in. Bae, recognizing the beginnings of irritation, cleared out with a quiet good bye and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. 

He wondered if he felt relieved or annoyed that no one came to disturb him at the shop. He supposed it would have been a nice respite, but they would have received the backlash of his frustration. 

Rubbing his face with his hands, he leaned back with a sigh and stared anywhere but at the pages in front of him. 

His phone chimed.

Eager to have an excuse to stop, he fumbled for the device before looking at the message.

 _I forgot how suspicious small towns are of new people. I swear I’m innocent, but I feel very guilty of something I’m not sure I have or haven’t done._  
It was from Belle. The text drew a smile from him and he sent back, _Funny you should mention that. A stranger waltzed into our town and sent everyone into an uproar._

He didn’t bother setting the phone down. Experience told him she was a rapid responder and moments later she proved him right.

_Really? What a coincidence. Tell me you’ll have the graciousness to make this stranger feel welcome with or lunch or something._

Gold huffed. _That’s not what I do, dearie._

_No, you just buy coffee for people who can’t afford it._

Sidestepping her neat answer, Gold inquired about her day. Moments later his phone rang and her picture appeared on his screen.

“Hello?”

_“I forgot how suspicious townspeople could be. One would think I’m coming to rob them while they sleep, the way they whisper as I pass by.”_

Gold stifled a laugh and tried not to think about how his shoulders hunched forward with a relaxed posture as he stared blankly at the far wall crowded with things while he pictured her instead.

“Are they rising up with their torches and pitchforks yet?”

The snort she gave was both unladylike and incredibly endearing. _“Just give them a moment. Any minute now, I’m sure I’ll get run out of town.”_

He could hear a breeze cycling through the phone as she walked. “Are you settled yet in your mystery town?” he asked, the question as to her location like a bubble rising to the surface.

_“I will be soon. I’m meeting with my new roommate to go sign onto her lease.”_

Gold raised his eyebrows. “You won’t be staying with your father?”

Her breathy laugh came through the phone. _“He kicked me out. Told me I had to socialize with someone that wasn’t a doddering fool.”_

Chuckling, Gold redirected the conversation to ask about her lease, intending to offer his services as a lawyer when she answered, _“The language is incredible! This lease is airtight in every single way. There isn’t getting around it. Whoever drafted it really knows what they are doing. There are even provisions for after it is over!”_

“Tough landlord?” Gold queried, with only a hint of irony.

A huff came over the phone. _“Honestly, I’m not sure whether I should thank him or be frightened of him. He has a worse reputation than me. I’m fairly sure people here think that if they leave him alone with their children, he’ll snatch them away.”_

“Baby stealer is a difficult persona to pull off.”

Belle snickered, and he felt a faint tickle at having made her laugh. 

_“Oh, I see my roommate! We’re meeting in front of his place of work,” she said amidst some jostling. “That’s funny, he has the same last name as you!”_

“It is a common last name,” Gold commented. He paused before continuing, attempting to gather courage to say, “Let me know how it goes or if you need rescuing from this monstrous landlord. I’m somewhat of an expert at contracts.”

 _“Certainly!”_ Belle chirped. _“I’ll talk to you soon.”_

“Have a good afternoon,” he responded before hanging up the phone. Strangely, the lack of finality didn’t bother him this time.

He tapped the corner of his phone against the wood of his work table, the corner of his mouth stretching into a soft smile. Contemplating if he should simply wait for her call or start on a new project, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, wondering if the grin would go away.

The bell at the front door chimed, pulling him out of his reverie.

Snatching his cane and tucking his phone into his breast pocket, he buttoned his suit jacket and limped toward the front. Brushing the beaded curtain aside with the back of his hand, hearing the clack as it dangled closed behind him, he lifted his gaze to see two women standing in his shop. 

The one facing him had a shock of red hair and a familiar face that he’d seen around Storybrooke on occasion. While she looked apprehensive, it was no indication of anything nefarious. Most that entered his shop had a similar look, like frightened rabbits traversing outside their burrows.

The second woman had an inexplicably familiar build, but it was the chestnut hair that made him wonder if he would finally meet the mystery woman.

She turned.

His eyes widened.

“Belle?”

“Torquil?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, I'll attempt to have a more regular schedule. Most likely, it will be on Thursdays, but no guarantees. I will try to have it within the same week if I miss Thursday, though.


	3. Across the Valley

The taller man slammed his hand down on the table with a vicious thud. The violent motion jostled the beer bottles and the wine glasses dotting the long wooden object. Seated in high-backed chairs, the other men didn’t seem surprised at his outburst, but any murmuring fell quiet anyway. The tall man stood, tugging on his black leather jacket with an air of shoddy self-control. An earring dangled from his right ear, a small solid gold hoop that, if in a different century, would have been the mark of a sailor. In a sense, it still was. The man’s handsome face hadn’t had enough time to be weathered by wild winds and strong waves, but it had tanned and the blue in his eyes seemed pronounced as if the ocean itself on a clear day had sunk into them. Now, in his anger, they broiled beneath lowered eyebrows. He clenched his jaw before he spoke, the muscle protruding at the hinge even through the thin, over trimmed beard in which he took roughish pride. 

“This has gone on too long!” he began, voice loud in the room as if he’d forgotten that he had no need to shout across a deck. As he continued, he lowered his volume, seeing the wince of the short, chubby man next to him.

“They’ve run us off for the last time! This will be an impossible battle if we cannot control the smuggling supply.”

An older gentleman shook his head and lifted a gloved hand to forestall him. He sat at the head of the table, farthest from the main door and closest to the hidden escape route to the right of him. The suit he wore had cost a small fortune and the way he held himself with straight backed shoulders and nose upturned, gave no doubt that he had money enough for many more and still not dent his bank account. 

“Killian, your passion is appreciated, but too fast and the Brisbane mob will decide we are too much trouble before we are ready for them.”

“It may not be as hard as you think,” said Killian as he picked up a thin manila folder before him and passed it to the short man beside him. He pointed at it as it made its way hand over hand to the gentleman at the other end of the table.

“That there is what prevents us from our goal. You know as well as I that whoever controls that small inlet, controls the smuggling supply on this side of the continent.”

The gentleman opened the folder with a casual flick of his gloved finger before smoothing his tie and looking back at Killian. 

“Who are these people?”

“The man in the middle is Maurice French. The woman to his right is his deceased wife, Colette, and the woman on the left is Belle. Legally, they currently own the property we need.” Smirking with all the cockiness of a man who’d found information that 

Pulling the picture up as he looked at the notes, those seated around the table got a glimpse of a large man with his arms around two beautiful women, all smiling at the camera. One of the men, notable for a thick black beard and his fingers constantly beating a tattoo on his trousers, suddenly pointed at the man in the picture, his Australian accent coursing roughly through the air.

“Isn’t that the man who saved Nemo’s life?”

There were murmurs of assent and all eyes were back on Killian. 

“Yes, he is. Which is why he currently owns the place. They have been able to go so long undetected because of the legal documents he is able to provide. If we obtain those and then make the move we have been planning, we can control the port.” He focused his gaze on the gentleman at the far end. “Mr. Devereaux, we need French to sign over the title of land to us.”

Harmon Devereaux tilted his head as he studied first the picture he flipped back down and then the man at the other end. The light flooding into the room from the window behind him finally caught his shock of red hair and seemed to set it on fire. The fringes flickered as if candles in a light breeze and the rest simply seemed to burn. 

“We all realize the amount of legality and paperwork that land drowns in, but with Nemo’s protection, there is no touching them without torrential blowback.” 

There must have been something in Killian’s expression that led Harmon to ask, “I assume you have a plan to make this happen?” he spoke casually, but just beneath the surface lay a sneering warning to Killian. A reminder of the British man’s position and of his own power. He disliked being ordered and had killed men for less.

Swallowing before answering, Killian passed another folder down to Harmon and said, “Nemo has protection over Maurice French. We cannot do anything while he lives. Luckily enough for us, he has been nearing his deathbed for months. Once the deed passes to his daughter, it is fair game. Nemo will be able to continue using it if Belle doesn’t sell, but if she does, his operation will come to a halt.”

He paused a moment to deliver a dramatic conclusion. “You may be interested to know that Belle is Nemo’s goddaughter.”

Killian watched as Harmon flipped through the pages before stopping and looking up at him. 

“Really?” The expression he assumed was harsh and thoughtful. Killian allowed himself a small smirk at a game well played. It didn’t take much sleuthing to root out Harmon’s distaste for Nemo. Placing a trump card into his hand was an easy road to promotion. 

While Harmon disliked demonstrating any keenness in a plan before he was committed, Killian could see his interest plain as the calm before a storm. 

“And the police in Nemo’s pocket?”

“Easily dealt with. They follow the easy money,” supplied Killian quickly, hiding a grin at the apparent interest.

“And the police where the French’s live?” the finger drummer asked, hand ceasing to fidget and stroking the wiry strands of hair on his chin instead.

“Buyable. In fact, I have a contact there who would be more than willing to assist us. She has a great deal of pull in the small town.”

Harmon raised an eyebrow as he turned the next page in the folder. “Regina Mills, is it? That wouldn’t happen to be the daughter of Cora Mills by any chance?”

“She is. She takes after her mother, quite greedy and eager for power.”

Perusing the two files in silence, Harmon allowed Killian to simply stand and watch wordlessly as he read the plan over. No one made a sound, only scrutinizing Harmon’s unreadable expression before he finally put down the file and said, “Well, this is all very well and good, but I’ve yet to encounter a plan that didn’t have a catch. What is this one?”

Squashing the urge to shuffle his weight, Killian stood straighter and clasped his hands in front of him. “There is rumor that an old fixer from Scotland has taken up residence in the town. He appears to have retired, but he won’t take kindly to an intrusion on his quiet life.”

The man with the beard guffawed, “An old fixer? What could he possibly do?”

“Edward,” Harmon said softly, tapping once on the table with a firm finger, “please think before you speak. Never underestimate anyone.” He lifted his gaze up to Killian and asked, “Who is this fixer?”

Squeezing his hands together tightly, Killian replied, “A Mr. Gold.”

Harmon cursed before saying, “You want to run a con under the nose of Gold? You are out of your mind.”

Waving a hand urgently, Killian soothed desperately, “No, that’s where Regina comes in. She distracts him while we make a move on French. He is only aware that they live in town. He doesn’t interact with them, isn’t friends with them. He isn’t friends with anyone. And,” Killian said, seeing that the words were getting through to Harmon, “he has a weakness. He has a son.”

The atmosphere grew tense as Edward drummed against his leg and the other men looked studiously down at the wood of the desk. 

“So,” Harmon finally said, leaning back in his chair, “Gold has a son.” Nodding slowly as he mulled over this information, he looked up at Killian. “A son can be very distracting in his own right. Your little plan might just work. You are quite right to say we need that land. It will certainly upset the strong hold Nemo retains on Brisbane.”

Motioning for Killian to sit down, Harmon addressed the table in his soft voice. “We will play the long con. Mr. French is not to be touched, understood? The moment we involve him, this will come crashing down around us. Killian will go to Storybrooke, Maine to keep an eye on this Belle. Edward, you will lead the distractions for the Brisbane mob here. Everything to keep them from thinking that we have a goal in mind. Not too much, mind you. We don’t want them to think we are active.” Pointing at two men sitting at the far end, he said, “Liam and Smee, you will go with Killian. Smee,” he specified, addressing him with the strange nickname he had picked up on the street. “Is your mother still working in hospice care?”

William ‘Smee’ Shoemaker nodded as he grinned, presenting rosy cheeks. “She’s already in place, Mr. Devereaux, sir. She’s expecting my visit soon.”

“Good. Liam, you are in charge of organizing the distraction for Gold. Work with Regina and do whatever it takes to keep his nose out of this. Don’t let him know we are there. Dismissed.”

There was a jumble of scraping chairs and scuffing boots as the men stood and made their way out of the room, muted conversations between each other as they began planning amongst themselves. Harmon stood, tall in personality, if not overly towering at ten inches over five feet. He snagged Liam’s arm as he made to walk by and halted him. 

“Keep an eye on Killian. Don’t think I don’t know about your brother’s tryst with a woman who looked remarkably like Belle French.”

Liam Jones gave a wordless agreement before Harmon allowed him to continue by. Killian, not too far behind, heard the words and watched as the cold blue eyes stared hard at him. Swallowing, he caught up with his brother and threw an arm around his shoulders.

“So, Liam, ready for a long flight to Maine? Got your passport ready and all? Cheer up, mate, it’ll be fun!”

As they stepped out into the crowed bar the room took secret refuge in, Liam shook his head, shrugging off his brother’s arm. 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re thinking, but you need to be careful. Don’t let your feelings towards Belle get in the way. She made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with you.

Clasping Liam’s shoulder with a grip made strong from hauling ropes, Killian forced his brother to face him.

“Liam, I know what I’m doing. Listen, I’m over Belle. I don’t care what happens to her.” Killian smiled nastily, before saying, “Sure, she was fun, but all she was all moral and just. I need someone a little more loose.”

Rolling his eyes, Liam just motioned for his brother to follow him. “Whatever. Just be careful. Come on, we have to book a flight. The Jones brothers swaggered out of the bar out onto the street, missing the woman inclining her ear to their conversation, blood draining from her face, leaving the olive skin quite pale.

Had they stayed a little longer, hovering by the door, they would have heard her make a phone call to a man named Will Scarlet, asking him to meet her as soon as possible before giving her name as Meixiu. Had Killian watched her, he would have seen her pull out what looked like a black leather wallet, before pushing it back in her pocket and retrieving a brown wallet to pay. Had he been curious enough to steal it, he would have seen the damning words, _Australian Federal Police_ stamped on a card with her picture on it and a badge on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evidently, this is a much shorter chapter. I'd say I'm experimenting with length, but that would be a partial lie. I intend for the chapters to be a little longer than two thousands and quite under ten thousand. I'm sure there's a happy medium somewhere... Anyway, the adventure continues.


	4. Darkening Horizon

Gold prided himself on remaining unflappable in the face of the unimaginable circumstances. Presented with the muzzle end of a pistol held by a half-crazed man, he could talk the man down without breaking a nervous sweat. He anticipated surprises. It remained the reason he bested others in both chess and life.

Yet, there he stood with his mouth hanging open like a gaping fish, staring disbelievingly at the mystery woman who no longer seemed quite so mysterious.

“You two know each other?” The red-head asked, gesturing between the two of them with a bony finger.

Gold could only blink. Stalling for time, he stepped forward. Like some strange, invisible twine connecting them, every step he took urged Belle to take one of her own. She reached out a petite hand and gently squeezed against his shoulder as if to assure herself he was no specter to fear. 

“You’re here,” he said quietly, his voice so low he almost had trouble hearing himself.

“As are you,” she replied, before sliding up her hand and unexpectedly he found himself with an armful of her. She hugged him with more than just the warmth he could feel through all four of his layers. It was almost fierce, firm and enveloping, but kind, gentle and escapable. 

Assuredly, this had to be strange for any onlooker. Well-known for his aloofness and general dislike of the entire population, Gold refrained from any physical contact aside from a handshake with anyone but his son.  
But he hugged her back. His free hand slipped up her side, brushing nothing but air until it came to rest high on her back. 

“I can hardly believe it,” she murmured clearly by his ear. She pulled pack, bracing her hands on his shoulders and smiled brightly at him. Like a miracle, or a contagion, she drew a smile from him in return. 

How did she do that, drag geniality from him? 

“I ought to have put two and two together from that lovely little sign outside,” she said, sliding her hands down his arms. Just as he began pull back, palm strangely chilled without her warmth, she took it in both hands and turned to the woman who’d come with her.

“So, you two know each other?” the red-head asked again, cocking her head at Gold before allowing a fleeting smirk to cross her lips. “Your name is Torquil?”

“Oh, hush, _Zeemermin_ ,” Belle retorted while shooting her a withering look. 

The smile Gold still wore stretched a little farther at that new piece of knowledge. It disappeared when Belle tugged on his hand as she stepped forward towards the red-head that Gold finally recognized as Ariel Marino, a tenant of his. 

“You are here for an apartment, yes?” Gold asked finally, relief flooding through him at the ability to utter _something_. Now that the shock had waned, he seemed more able to form cohesive sentences.

“Yes,” Belle affirmed, stopping now that the distance had been closed between her future roommate and the two of them. “But, if that’s not possible anymore because we know each other, I can figure something else out.”

“No,” Gold said quickly, finding a firm ground in contracts and deals. “That won’t be necessary. I assume you have the paperwork with you?” He raised an eyebrow at the manila folder Ariel clutched in her hand, which was quickly handed over.

He wasn’t sure who let go first, Belle or himself, but either way, his hand was free to take the folder. 

“If you’ll permit me a moment, I’ll collect the proper paperwork for you to sign now,” Gold offered as he thumbed through the first few pages. Belle nodded eagerly, pink rose lips still smiling at him.

Gold flicked his gaze between the two of them before saying a little awkwardly, “I’ll just do that then.” He turned and thanked the heavens the moment he was out of sight behind the beaded curtain which clacked after he passed through. 

Taking a moment, he braced himself against the workbench. Eyes closed and breath a steady rhythm, he worked towards composure.

She was here. She was here. She is here. She is _here_.  
The surprise, the shock of it all, while finally wearing off, still sent him reeling. He was out of practice in the art of recovering from the sudden appearance of the unknown. Now that he had calmed, he had a moment to analyze where this left him: Heart quickening, mind anticipating, and eyes widening in a strange, foreign delight.

_She’s here_. He repeated to himself as he collected the papers required to legally bind Belle to the apartment in some way or another. While unconventional to sign her to a lease after it had already begun, Gold couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, he focused on the task at hand. Change, apparently was something he’d missed. Boredom had never been a good color on him. Belle continued to be the most interesting thing since he’d moved to Storybrooke.

He could hear a quiet murmur, the mumble of muted voices, and he hurried to finish assembling his collection and walk out with grace and authority.

“If the two of you would be so kind as to join me?” he spoke quietly, but his edge was back and with it, his confidence. He slipped behind the counter and laid out the pages on the glass. As Belle and Ariel moved toward him, he smiled his crocodile smile and tugged a pen free from his jacket pocket. 

“Just sign on the dotted line.”

Belle took the pen from him with an expression that assured him she hadn’t allowed the townspeople to bias her against him. However, she ignored his pointing finger in favor of sliding the first page toward her and began to read it.

Gold swallowed an approving grin a waited patiently as she thoroughly read through the new contract. When she did sign, with a flourish that rivaled his own, she gave an excited shiver and handed him back his pen.

“If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll get out my check and give you the security deposit.”

She rummaged in her purse, which he realized now was slung across her shoulder and hung at her side, and triumphantly retrieved her wallet. With it appeared a pen of her own, not dissimilar to the fountain pen resting against his chest, and she scribbled out the required amount and tore out the check.

Gold took the check between pinched fingers, not bothering to hide his smile at her enthusiasm. Ariel moved to stand behind her and waved her own pen before signing the papers as well.

“It’s official now,” Belle said, nudging the red-head. “You’re stuck with me.”

Ariel rolled her eyes, but it didn’t take a genius to tell she was pleased. When Belle turned to him, Gold felt more at ease than when she’d first entered.

“I’m afraid we have to go, but I hear that Granny’s makes a decent burger. Maybe we can get one later?” She winked at him. “My treat.”

Gold rested his hands against the glass counter and raised his eyebrows. “Should I bring my wallet just in case?”

The way she laughed sent a tingle through him, from his fingers to his toes. She shook her head and said something about texting him later as she walked out. Ariel shot him a bewildered look as she hurried to catch Belle moving swiftly out the door.

When she was gone, chestnut hair disappearing around the corner after a bluster of wind, Gold stared blankly at the empty street. It pleased him to know that she was here and in close proximity. Never mind that it finally settled his insatiable curiosity as to her location, it felt good to know that there was someone else in this town that didn’t hate him. Although, that might not last all that long.

Gold let out a breath and lowered his gaze to the collection of papers, specifically Belle’s signature. All loops and curves, it seemed to scream and shout her artistic profession. For a moment he relaxed, shoulders slumping and breath releasing. Before he groaned and braced his palms against the counter.

Bae was going to have a field day with this.

**~~~***~~~**

In an attempt to prolong the inevitable conversation with his son, Gold took a more active search in looking for something to do. A surprising amount of Gold’s life was puttering around in his shop until someone needed a deal of some sort. A number of hobbies had popped up in his life now that he had the time. He’d become quite handy with delicate tools and fragile items since he’d first arrived in Maine. Repairing and replacing had become quite cathartic, although he was nowhere near as talented as Marco, the local handy man. 

He’d just replaced a mechanism on an old clock he knew would never sell, but had gotten a strange amount of grease on his hands. Tugging a clean cloth from under a pile of books, he used it to wipe his fingers while he looked around for something to do.

When he heard the door open, he twisted his lips in a wry smile as he considered sighing in relief at the interruption. Limping to the front, he quickly changed his mind about relief when he saw the mayor holding a pile of paperwork.

Situating himself behind the counter, he leaned his cane against it and continued the pretense of engrossing himself in cleaning his fingernails with the cloth, just barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the triumphant smile on the mayor’s face.

A weighty thump followed as she dropped the folders onto the glass.

“As per law, I have to let you know when I plan to make a change. I think you’ll like this one, though. Lots of money to be made.” Resting a hand on the stack of papers, she leaned closer and said, “After all, that’s what you care about, isn’t it?”

“And what’s this, dearie? Another law suit? Don’t you remember how the last one went?” Gold rotated the pile and read the title.

Gold rotated the pile with a disinterested look and scanned the first page and what he read would have made him spit out his morning coffee. He had to read it again to make sure he hadn’t had a minor stroke.

“You want to build a _mall_?” he asked incredulously, swiftly flicking through the rest of the file to get an overview at how disastrous would be and how much it would cost him. Regina patted the hand resting on the counter with a sickly-sweet smile. “Don’t worry, the law suit will come later, I’m sure.”

She turned gracefully and sauntered out with sure, confident steps. And people thought _he_ was the devil incarnate.

He was too busy cursing her under his breath to call out anything passive aggressive after her. Every page, whether it had numbers or narrative, predicted another day of work. Shuffling it all together, he grabbed his cane and hurried to the front of the shop where he flipped the open sign and locked the front door. This colossal mistake needed his immediate full attention. It was with low groans and growled curses that he foresaw burying himself up to his eyeballs in paperwork and contract law.

Bae would just have to wait for the interesting news.

At first it was just a legal pad and pen marking notes down while Dove took over the front of the shop, a mark at his attempt to focus on his son. Then it grew to involve his phone at late hours, calling in political capital and ill-gotten favors while he paced the halls of his home. It escalated further to a combination of his laptop, his phone, and his note pad as he battled with Regina from a distance, the only real blessing in this entire enterprise. It was at that point, a week after her arrival, that Belle’s message inviting him to lunch got lost amidst a myriad of threatening phone calls and strongly worded emails advising people to be wary of their mayor. He briefly remembered seeing it flash on his phone before a call came from the district attorney’s office with a long-winded complaint. To his embarrassment and regret, he forgot about the text twenty minutes into listening to Spencer King drone on about how much this mall was costing him.

He couldn’t manage to leave the case at the office, dragging himself home where he flopped into his chair in his study and opened it again. It traveled with him in the worn, battered briefcase he’d carried since Glasgow. Bae kept uncharacteristically silent about it, only glaring at him when his food remained half-eaten at the end of their meals together. 

So engrossed did Gold become in this monstrous case that it slipped his mind to tell Bae about Belle. 

September came and went with Gold growing equal parts tired and more irritable than ever before. He snapped and growled to get his way when cajoling and thinly veiled threats did him no good. 

Autumn settled in like a drunk man at an opera, with no sense of subtlety. The temperature dropped wickedly as did Gold’s patience. With every passing chill, forcing Gold to hunker into his thick, wool coat, he grew more testy and prickly.

In an attempt to avoid snarling at his son, or in any way addressing him that stemmed from his frustration at the entire enterprise, Gold practically avoided his son all together. When Bae insisted on sitting by him, or bringing him some sort of meal, Gold would ponder the case in general silence, sticking with safe subjects and questions toward general well-being that wouldn’t lead into a deluge of complaints.

For all his good intentions, he could tell it hurt Bae to be kept apart from it all so abruptly and completely. 

It was the first week of October when Gold managed to bring the mayor’s case to a complete standstill, his first major victory since the whole damn thing started. He dragged himself home, eyes narrowed by emotion rather than habit now and chose to sit at the dining room table rather than his office. Leaning against his chair looking more worn then its master, was his briefcase. Wordlessly, he sat there until Bae walked in on him, a banana in hand and a sudden guilty expression at not waiting for dinner.

“Hey,” the boy greeted quietly, his eyes turning concerned after one glance. 

“Hey, Bae,” Gold returned with a tired smile. He watched as his boy took a seat next to him, careful to pull out the chair gingerly and slowly as if he were coming up next to a skittish animal.

Bracing his elbows on the table, shoulders hunched forward, Gold pressed his lips into a thin line before saying softly, “I’m sorry I’ve been distant lately.”

Bae scratched behind his ear. It had always been his tell that he was about to lie and that knowledge sent a twinge through Gold’s heart.

“It’s alright. I know you’re busy.”

Those words did nothing to ease his mind.

“We both know it’s not okay,” Gold said, laying a gentle hand on the boy’s back. “I’ve been neglecting you this past month and I’m sorry.”

Gold could feel his son shrug under his palm and the vibrations of Bae’s voice as he tried to wave off his father’s apology.

“Really, I understand. I don’t want a mall here either, and I appreciate what you are trying to do to stop it.”

“Thank you, but I don’t care if they build ten malls. I’d rather have to deal with that than miss a day with my son.”

“Aw, Pops,” Bae groaned, ducking his head to hide the growing red on his cheeks. 

“Oh, that wasn’t cheesy enough?” Gold half teased. Ruffling Bae’s hair, he declared, “I’d rather spend five minutes laughing with you than win five million dollars.”

“Dad, there isn’t anyone here and you are still embarrassing me.” Bae attempted to scowl, but a slow smile derailed the attempt and he finally met Gold’s eye. 

“I’ll do better,” Gold promised, grin softening at the sight of his boy’s tousled hair and happier demeanor. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to make amends. Forgive me?”

“In an instant,” Bae responded quickly, clapping Gold’s shoulder. The two of them fell into a companionable silence broken quickly by Bae’s growling stomach which caused Gold to chuckle fondly.

“Why don’t I make you something for dinner?”

“Make it quick? I’m suffering over here.” Bae poked mournfully at his stomach.

“Go on, eat your banana. I’ll see what I can make that’ll warm us up tonight.”

Gold heaved himself out of the chair, shedding his suit jacket onto the chair before relocating to the kitchen. When he opened the refrigerator, he took a moment to tug at his silk tie until it came undone and he could drape it across his shoulders when the doorbell rang, startling him. Instantly, Gold straightened and shut the door, ignoring his cane as it fell to the ground with a clack, and swiftly drew a kitchen knife out of its wooden sheath that held the rest of its kind. When Bae called out that he’d get it, a muffled shout around what Gold assumed to be his banana, Gold forced himself to replace the knife and focus on lowering his pounding heart rate.

This case was doing something to him. Storybrooke was still safe; Bae could open the door in without Gold having to fear for his safety. 

He heard the murmurs of greetings and when Bae didn’t call for him, he decided to investigate for himself. Stooping to grab his cane, he limped out, gripping the handle with a measure of precaution. 

His throat closed when he saw a tall man holding a hat in his hands and wearing a grin on his face. Laying a heavy hand on Bae’s shoulder, Gold tugged him back ever so slightly before stepping in front of him and squashed the urge to slam the door.

“Ah, Mr. Gold, just the man I wanted to see,” the man said before winking and nodding at Bae. “Not that you aren’t someone I’ve wanted to meet for a while, but I’m afraid I have a good deal of business to discuss with your father, here.”

The moment Gold felt his jaw tighten, he relaxed and assumed his normal air of aloofness.  
“Jefferson, what can I do for you?”

The man scratched beneath a thin, colorful scarf, his expressive face becoming abruptly serious. 

“I’ve got mixture of news and business, both of which you’ll want to hear.”

Gold had heard those words before uttered from those very lips, and it had never boded well before. Like ants swarming to honey, unbidden memories sprang to the forefront of his mind, each an unfortunate resolution to whatever those words had wrought.

“You’d best come in then,” Gold said with an aristocratic sniff as he opened the door wider. Keeping an eye on the taller man as he entered, Gold clasped Bae around the shoulders and guided him away, ducking his head and lowering his voice to say, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make dinner tonight. Why don’t I place a call to the housekeeper and see if she’ll whip something up for you, hm?”

Bae shook his head, darting a look back where Jefferson bent at the waist to inspect a trinket on an end table. 

“What’s going on, Papa?” he asked, his voice a worried, wavering whisper. “What kind of business does he need that he can’t discuss during hours? Who is he?”

The last time Bae had called him Papa was when the boy had cracked his rib in a fall and the very act of breathing became painful. He’d been thirteen and until then insisted he’d become too old for the name _Papa_. That he said it now sent alarm bells in his father’s mind.

Gold shifted again, facing his boy head on. “He’s an old associate. I’m not sure what he wants, but it’s always been important before, and I’ve no reason to not believe him now.”

He attempted a reassuring smile, and watched with disappointment and a hint of pride as Bae saw right through him.

“You don’t like this either,” he accused, brown eyes filled with concern as he stuck his hands in his pockets, a clear tell that he remained nervous. 

Heaving a sigh through his nose, Gold shook his head, lips a thin line and eyes constantly flicking to check on Jefferson who studiously ignored them both.

“No, but I still have to talk with him.”

Bae grimaced, but nodded. “Be careful?” 

“Of course,” Gold replied immediately, clasping the boy’s shoulder.

“Should I leave you to it? Bring you something back from Granny’s?”

It still struck Gold as strange that simple questions like that could send his heart pounding and spike his adrenaline. 

“No!” he exclaimed, his voice raising ever so slightly, before he could compose himself. Forcing him to loosen his suddenly tight grip on Bae’s shoulder, he repeated more softly, “No. Until Jefferson is gone, if you want something to eat, I’m asking you to either make it, or ask the housekeeper to make something.”

“Dad,” Bae began, but Gold silenced him with a firm, resolute look.

“Oblige me, Baeden.”

Just as Gold became alerted when Bae called him Papa, the use of Bae’s full name retained a strange power of the boy. He straightened, nodded, and moved in the direction of the library.

It was reflexive, the way he suddenly viewed his home as a potential battle ground, a danger zone. His hand tightened and then loosened on the cane. His heart beat increased its steady temp. He no longer viewed his collection as knick-knacks, but as potential weapons. As he shuffled over to Jefferson, limp greatly exaggerated, he slid his undone tie from around his neck and stuffed it in his back pocket. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever invited you here, Mr. Trickett,” Gold commented dryly as he feigned leaning heavily on his cane.

“And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you need a cane before,” Jefferson said, raising his eyebrows at the object. “I know you don’t need the thing, so no need to carry on the charade with me.”

“I believe I’ll keep it with me any way. All the better to beat you over the head with, if need be.”

Jefferson flashed a wicked smile before inviting himself further into Gold’s home. He passed by the dining room and made himself comfortable in the living room, slumping onto the couch and kicking up his feet on the coffee table.

Opening his messenger bag with a cold sniff, he hauled out a thin collection of files and waved them at Gold. “Believe me, you’ll be glad I’ve come by the time I’m done here.”

Taking them before seating himself beside the unwelcome man, Gold thumbed through the top portion with an unimpressed expression. 

“What is this?”

Jerking at it with his chin, Jefferson clasped his hands behind his head. “It’s two things, really. See, I need something from you, the business bit. The bottom portion is the news I’ve brought about that new group coming.”

“I’m guessing I don’t get the news until I agree to the top bit?” Gold prompted as he scanned the first couple pages with a sinking feeling. 

“Sort of,” Jefferson said, with a shrug. “I’m a nice guy, see, so I’m giving you part of the news as a friend. If you want the rest, you’re going to have to help me out here.”

“What is this news going to cost me?”

“It’s sort of a large favor.”

Gold tossed the papers onto the coffee table, growling, “It had better be good news then.”

“Define good.”

“Jefferson,” Gold said, warning in his voice and a scowl on his lips.

The taller man quickly spread his hands and removed his feet of the table. “Okay, okay, no need to get so antsy.”

“Just tell me the first bit of news.”

Jefferson nodded and separated the papers into two distinct piles. While the stack had been rather lean to begin with, the three, nearly empty, manila folders he was handed was rather infuriating.

“That first one is about the organization sending the insurgents. Second and third are on the two they are sending.”

“Tell me these are light because they are thugs with small rap sheets.”

Jefferson shook his head apologetically. “These people hide their tracks well. That’s surface information.”

Gold paged through them, leaving Jefferson to watch him in silence. It was a quick glance, just enough to give him a taste and allow his mind to stew over before he asked, “And what do I have to do to get the rest?”

When Jefferson didn’t reply right away, Gold tore his eyes away from the pages and met the strangely steady, calm blue eyes of a man who often couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes. Had he been one to unnerve quickly, Gold would have found it discomforting. As it was, he met his gaze with a patience born of years of practice.

Jefferson faltered first, dropping his sight to the floor, then to his clasped hands.

“Don’t think that this is a rash decision, Gold,” he began, jaw muscle tightening when he paused to look at him again. “It’s not. I want this more than you could…Well, I’m here because I think you are the only one who could possibly imagine how badly I want it…” He trailed off and craned his neck to look toward the library where Bae’d disappeared to.

It dawned on Gold then. Jefferson’s unannounced arrival, his strange, calm build up to his request, made sense.

“You want out.”

Jefferson looked back at him before nodding. “And I’ll do anything to make that happen.”

“Anything?” Gold asked, words that used to be music to his ears fully capturing his attention.

“You’re the best, Gold, everybody knows that. You always keep your word. Promise to get me out, and I’ll do whatever you need.”

The Scotsman kept his silence, allowing the other man to shift uncomfortably while he took his time perusing through the files. He understood living in fear, understood the constant paranoia that anyone could be a potential enemy. Easy money, however, did not compare to the love one had for a child. Gold’s life had been radically changed and warped the moment Bae came kicking and screaming into the world. Jefferson too had a child of which to think, to love. 

As much as his plight pulled at him, resonating as it did in similarity, Gold still had to think about Bae. Parental instinct demanded he refuse and send Jefferson home. Logic pointed out that if these people were coming anyway, it wouldn’t matter if he helped Jefferson leave. Danger lurked everywhere. 

The man had a fair sheen of sweat by the time Gold finally looked back up at him, a decision in his eyes. 

“Deal. Now start talking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly really sorry. It's been a crazy week and I just got so freaking busy I didn't have time to finish the chapter. When I did sit down to do it, my brain said, "But wait, what if this happened instead?" And I just freaking rolled with it. I'll do my best to have the next chapter out by the end of this week, but no promises. Hopefully after the holiday - By which I mean Thanksgiving - I'll have the next chapter out. I'm going to see if by some miracle I can figure out the mystery of Tumblr and proceed to post this thing on there under the same name. I'll let you know if I manage to figure it out. I do accept prompts, if you feel so inclined. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	5. Pushing Forward

Jefferson sagged with relief at Gold’s words. It would have been funny if it weren’t so serious. Running his hand rapidly through his hair, the taller man stood up to pace the length of the coffee table. He nodded several times before shedding his coat and loosening the scarf from around his neck, giving Gold a glimpse at the horrific scar it hid.

“Good, good. Yes.”

Gold tossed the papers onto the cushion beside him. Leaning back with a quick glance at the library, he crossed his legs and stretched his arm along the back of the couch. It was a position he rarely assumed and only when he was alone. Seated like that, he waited for Jefferson to collect his thoughts before finally beginning.

“Both of those files about the men are about as thorough as I could get for them. The file on the organization is where I come in.”

At Jefferson’s nod, Gold reached for the third file. He snorted when he found it held a single page. The man grinned and shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t take any chances.”

Waving for him to continue, Gold hunted for a pen to scribble notes on the back of the sheet of paper. He found one of Bae’s cheap pens lying on the coffee table and instantly missed the weight of his fountain pen still in his suit jacket.

“It’s an organized crime unit located in Australia run by Harmon Devereaux.”

“Isn’t it just the Brisbane Mob over there?” Gold asked, shooting him a quizzical look.

Jefferson simply shrugged again, choosing to sit back on the couch. “You’ve been out for almost thirteen years now. Things change.” He waggled his finger at the folder. “Devereaux has been particularly vicious the past couple years.”

“What does he want with a town halfway around the world?”

“Ah!” Jefferson exclaimed, standing again, “That is the question, isn’t it? What could a man trying to take over a city in Australia want with a town in Maine?”

Rubbing his forehead, Gold sighed, “That’s what I asked, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“Jefferson.”

“Right, sorry.” 

The man moved to the bookcase and leaned against it, the picture of pomposity before he whirled around again and clapped his hands. Inwardly, Gold groaned. Dealing with Jefferson required a patience and stamina that he seemed to have lost over the years.

“Anyway, from what I could find out, there is a piece of land that overlooks a damn good smuggling point, both inland and on the sea. Apparently, it requires a good degree of legality because authorities check there frequently.”

Gold scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the point of smuggling to avoid the law?”

Jefferson took off his hat with a cheeky grin before settling his hand on his back, fingers playing with his headpiece. “Yes, but you know it’s always easier to work with the law when you can.”

The Scotsman jotted down a few thoughts before studying the paper.

“Aren’t you going to ask why they are coming?” asked the other man, tapping his hat rapidly against his leg with anticipation.

“I would assume it’s because whomever owns the property is here and they need them to sign it over.”

The pout Jefferson presented was impressive, even for him. He slumped to the couch with a grumble, “Gee, could you not trample over my big reveal?”

“You were taking too long,” Gold stated dismissively. “That is an easy deduction. The real question is who they are after?”

Jefferson gave an exaggerated shrug and sat in silence as he stared at the folder Gold held in his hand. 

“That is honestly about it. The only other thing I can tell you is that by the looks of it, they are coming for someone who has been here for a while.”

Both men fell quiet for a moment, the sobriety of the situation a palpable weight in the room.

Finally, Gold nodded and tapped the folder into his hand. “If that is all, you’d best go,” he said. 

With alacrity, Jefferson rose to his feet and moved to retrieve his scarf and coat. “I wish you the best of luck. I am at your disposal throughout the entirety of this,” he stated as he thrust gangly arms into the sleeves of the thick wool coat.

Gold, who’d risen to see him out, nodded and held out his hand for the other man to shake.

“Aye, I know. Lay low as best you can. I’d rather they be surprised by your appearance, should it come to that.”

Clasping his hand, Jefferson pulled out a disposable phone out of his left pocket and waved it like a child does a pickle. “Use this. My number is already programmed in for you. Night or day, I’ll answer it.”

When Gold accepted it, Jefferson gave an odd little bow and breezed out the door and into the aching cold, leaving Gold alone with a mountain of worry and a mole hill of resolutions.

**~~~***~~~**

The next morning, Gold could see the questions simmering under Bae’s carefully neutral expression. They ate breakfast in silence, both refusing to break the silence first and desperately wishing that the other would. 

After both forks clinked against empty plates, Bae stood abruptly and cleared both plates away. When he returned, backpack slung over one shoulder and beanie in his hand, he cleared his throat before saying, “I’m going to stop at the library on my way back home from school. I don’t expect I’ll be able to stop by the shop at all this week. I’m busy with a project.”

It nearly broke Gold’s heart to see a look of pleading expectancy in Bae’s eyes. The boy wanted to know why Jefferson had come, wanted to know who the stranger was.

For a brief moment, Gold felt tempted to tell him, share his burden. Quickly, fatherhood swallowed the sentiment and turned it into a nod staring at the kitchen table so he would not see the inevitable look of hurt on Bae’s face.

Bae left without another word, his anger heard in the door closed with a sharp pull. 

For a moment, Gold simply rested the flat of his palms against the table and bowed his head. He honestly didn’t know what to do and allowed himself only a brief measure of exhaustion before rising and making ready to open his shop.

Of course, opening the shop at this point had become a fancy way of doing more paperwork to stop the atrocious mall from being built by the mayor. Today, however, it proved a useful distraction from another rising issue. He allowed himself to get especially lost in it as the work took his mind away from an angry son he would have to speak to when he arrived home… If the boy would speak with him, that was.

So buried did he become that the ring of the bell at his shop caused him to start and grab at the pistol strapped beneath his work bench. 

“Papa?” a voice floated back to him.

“Bae?”

“I, uh, brought lunch,” the boy announced as he made his way back into the backroom. When he poked his head around the corner, brushing the curtain aside with a hand holding a large bag, his brow was furrowed, and he chewed his lip. 

“Come in!” Gold cleared a section of the work table before taking the bag from his boy and placing it on the table. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Bae nudged the stool with his toe before sliding into the seat. “I wasn’t planning on coming,” he confessed, staring at the work table.

Reading his son had become slightly harder over the years, but the boy had not yet become a complete mystery.

“You want to know who the man was that came to the house, what he wanted?” Gold asked softly, pushing the food aside.

Bae nodded still staring at the table.

Gold closed his eyes and puffed out a breath before replying, “I’m sorry, Bae. I can’t answer that. Not just yet.” He tried to smile, but it came out a half-hearted, twisted thing. “Someday soon, but not yet.”

“Why?”

The word had Bae looking at him straight in the eye with confusion written on his face and etched in his voice as he said, “Papa, I didn’t like the look of him. He affected you, made you seem on edge.” Shaking his head, he stared at his father with an almost quizzical expression. 

“You never let anything get to you. I don’t understand why he did. What is going on?”

Laying a hand flat on the table, Gold gave Bae a hard look. 

“Bae, I said not yet. You may dislike me for it, but this is for your own good. I will tell you in time. I promise,” he said, eyeing the boy. “And you know I never break my promises.”

Thinning his lips, Bae stared hard at his father, eyebrows bunching together as his eyes narrowed before nodding curtly.

“Fine, but tell me soon.”

Gold said nothing, choosing to take a bite of the lunch that Bae had brought instead. 

The meal was finished in a tense silence broken only by Bae muttering that he was leaving as he cleared away the boxes and strode out of the room. Watching as the curtain of beads rustled from Bae’s departure, Gold closed his eyes as he exhaled slowly. He should have known that Bae wouldn’t let it go so quickly. 

The quiet Bae left behind discomfited Gold, his fingers beginning to itch for something to do. When had fatherhood become so involved? While by no means had it been easy, it certainly had not been so confusing when Bae had been younger… Before this mess had begun. 

Perhaps they should leave, he thought, fingers plucking a pen from his breast pocket and deftly spinning it about. It wove between his fingers before stopping to tap it against the other hand as he thought through the details of leaving Storybrooke. 

Pragmatically, in certain areas, it made sense to desert the place, round up their belongings and keeping their troubles behind them. Bae would not understand, wouldn’t care for the decision, but he didn’t have to understand to be safe.

His safety, after all, was always paramount. 

For a brief moment, Gold considered what lengths he would go to protect the boy. It spawned a blacker question: what would he do if the Bae were hurt or threatened in any sort of way?

Even he winced at the immediate violent response. 

No, here in Storybrooke he had power and influence. Secluded enough, there were not many places an enemy could surprise him that he couldn’t retaliate just as quietly. He knew the ground, the layout of a potential battleground and that could be half the war. 

He hoped there would be no war. 

As always, the thought of escaping Storybrooke fled his mind as quickly as it entered and allowed for ideas of what to do next to enter. Scowling at the desk, thoughts of an injured son consistently scrawled anger across his face to hide the fear in his eyes. 

Realizing he had no tolerance for deals that day, he shrugged on his wool coat, flipped the sign to closed, and exited his shop.

The cold bit at him like an angry gnat, constant and everywhere. He could feel his long nose reddening at the tip and his ears numbing from a stiff breeze. Etching a frown deeper into his face, he made his way to the library, not far from his shop so he could get warm.

It was just a quick push on the door that allowed him to enter and the heat to wash over him pleasantly like swallow of brandy. Shivering for just a moment before shrugging off the supposed weakness, Gold allowed the door to swing shut as he pulled himself fully into the library. 

As libraries went, the Storybrooke library was not much to look at. Cases well stocked with books created a sort of winding path through the building, some creating a wall here and others a hall way there. 

Rather absently, Gold ran a finger along the spine of a classic near him before venturing further into the building. Aside from passing an odd townsperson sequestered in a corner picking out a book, the building felt rather empty. 

Loud in the hush, his cane tapped against the hard floor, a signal to those before him that he could not see to stay out of his sight. 

Except one.

After years of training himself to be aware of sounds out of the norm, those that fell out of a pattern, Gold’s keen ears picked up on the distinct click of heeled shoes against tile coming closer to him.

Shoulders tensing and grip tightening on his cane, Gold half expected the mayor to swing around the corner, teeth bared in an ingenuine smile lined with blood-red lips.

“Miss French?” Gold asked, surprised.  
Indeed, Belle French stood before him, all smiles and blue eyes filled with warmth. 

“Mr. Gold, I’d begun to think you’d left Storybrooke behind and abandoned us for Boston,” Belle said, mischievously. 

Maybe it was the period of time between the first and last time he’d seen her, but if lovely had been sufficient to describe her before, it didn’t now. The color of her dress, an Egyptian blue he only recognized because of a pompous tailor back in Scotland, snapped all attention to her eyes. The pink lips hadn’t changed, even the smile that lingered on them remained, perhaps even brighter than he remembered. Those chestnut curls wrapped up on themselves and created an air of both style and relaxation that just worked. He tried to shake himself out of his stupor, anything to get his gaze off from her calves where he had finally focused on, a strange sense of guilt not allowing him to look her in the eye. 

Pulling himself together, he said, “I’m afraid you are stuck with me for the long haul, Miss French.”

“There are worse fates, I assure you,” she replied, jokingly. “What brings you here today?”

The reason for his visit tingled in his fingertips like a prickling flame as the heat warmed him from the outside in. But there was something in her eyes that had him saying, “It’s a library, isn’t it? I’m here for a book.” He tilted his head to the side studying her as he realized her appearance at the library was almost as foreign to his own.

“And you? Perhaps you are not as foreign to the library as I am, but even yet, what are you doing here?”

Brightly, everything she did was bright, she replied, “I work here! Well,” she paused to rethink the statement, then said, “Volunteer.”

It irked Gold. Not that she volunteered anywhere, it remained her prerogative to do as she liked, The fact that he didn’t know before she told him just then wordlessly told him how out of touch that he had become since this legal battle had begun.

“Have you come for a specific book?”

“Hm?” Gold’s attention snapped away from the projected sales sheet he had made in order to demonstrate the ineffectiveness of the monstrous mall.

Belle shook her head at him, curls tumbling about her shoulders, as she slipped her arm around the crook of his elbow and applied a little bit of pressure to urge him forward. Shaking off his shock, it was always strange and odd when someone other than his son touched him, brushed his skin. His smile, even to him, felt tight-lipped and unfamiliar, but he moved with her gracefully as he voiced his question of, “Where are we going?”

“This is a library, isn’t it?” she began, throwing his words back at him. “We are going to get a book.”

“What?”

She ignored him, her hand curling warmly on his arm as she led him towards the back. Poking up above the case, a sign declared “Classics”. When she detached herself from him, it was only for a brief moment to take up a book into her hands and present it to him.

“I do hope you have not yet read _Crime and Punishment_.”

The binding was rough in his hands, a gold engraving on the front with swirling letters bumped under his skin as he ran his fingertips over it. 

“I have not,” he answered. “I always meant to venture into Russian literature, but never found the time.”

“Find the time. I think you will enjoy it.”

She tapped the book with a finger before patting his chest and saying, “I have to go and do my job. I hope to see you around here soon. I can’t go on thinking that you’ve fallen off the face of the earth every few months.” 

“Besides, You really must come and visit the tea shop downstairs. I would have told you about it sooner, but I’d quite assumed you no longer even lived in the area.”

She left with flick of her hair and him with a book in his hands that he hadn’t expected and an open mouth with the beginnings of a smile. Perhaps this was the start to a better month.

When his phone vibrated, alerting him to a phone call, he looked at the caller ID and muttered a curse before answering it so that he could deal with the newest issue arising concerning the mall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey! So this is super belated. I ran full into writer's block, which is funny because I have a bunch of chapters. I just changed somethings at the beginning that I needed to figure out how to tie in. It should be fairly regular now that I have that mess sorted out. I just need to get some other chapters out, but I have plenty of cushion this time. So... Please, enjoy. I'm planning on having another chapter out this week, probably towards the weekend, in some semblance of an apology.
> 
> Also, this is completely unbetad soo.... yeah. All mistakes are my own.


	6. Proceeding Gently

The trouble with teenage boys is their propensity to consume everything edible in sight. Quite like a black hole and its ability to consume without ceasing, Bae often managed to metaphorically eat Gold out of house and home. His active life style didn’t help the already raging metabolism and Gold briefly wondered that if he weren’t rich, if he could actually keep the boy healthy. 

After dealing with the newest issue regarding the mall, he’d driven home, unwilling to deal with any further complaints. Opening up the refrigerator proved pointless. The Tupperware that had held leftovers sat empty in the dishwasher and the numerous fruits and vegetables purchased at the beginning of the week had dwindled down to a few leaves and scattered berries. His rummage in the pantry proved to be equally useless as most were additives to meals, not actual courses themselves. As he closed the last cabinet door with a low grumble, he heard his son’s heavy footsteps behind him.

“Anything to eat?” 

The hopeful note made Gold snort and reach for his phone. 

“Not unless you are hiding something in your room,” Gold said, smile sneaking up on him anyway. Bae shrugged, guilt far from his young mind as he reached into the refrigerator for the last few blueberries.

“How about Chinese?” Gold asked, hand hovering over the drawer containing the takeout menus. Bae nodded as he popped blueberries into his mouth.

“Just the usual for me,” Bae instructed, after tossing the last berry into the air before attempting to catch it and wincing when it bounced off his lip. 

Pulling out the menu and calling the restaurant, Gold smothered a chuckle at his son’s antics. After he made the phone call, taking care to order extra for Bae, he turned to see him flipping over the book that had been thrust upon him.

“So, I see you went to the library. Did you get to meet the new librarian?” 

“The what?” Gold asked, his mind making the connection between Belle and the new librarian even as Bae vocalized it.

“The new librarian? You didn’t hear about her? We talked about it earlier.” Bae tapped a thumb against the book in his hands. “She is fairly new to Storybrooke and has an accent you won’t soon forget.”

Unwilling to reveal his true thoughts nor the fact that he knew her, Gold wrinkled his nose and replied, “Chatty might be a more apt description.”

Laughing, Bae handed the book over to Gold’s outstretched hand. “You think everyone is chatty. Did she pick this book out for you too?”

Gold flipped the book over in his hands, welcoming the heft of it before nodding. Bae craned his neck to look at the title. 

“ _Crime and Punishment_. Hey,” he started, pointing at it eagerly. “Wen- ah, we have to read that for class later on.”

“Really?” Gold raised an eyebrow, the catch in Bae’s voice not slipping past him. “I thought you were on old English literature.”

Bae suddenly grew uncomfortable. “Well, yeah, but later, later on. You know, _later_.”

Raising his eyebrows disbelievingly, Gold braced a hand on the counter as he scoured his son’s face for clues as to his sudden change in behavior.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. Do, please, explain it to me.” Gold hid the building grin at his son’s discomfort. The boy was a beat away from shifting his weight from one foot to another. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he refused to look at his father.

“You know, we’ll get to it later in the class. Much later.”

Digesting this, Gold pursed his lips. “It couldn’t be that a certain girl spoke of it and now you feel the strong urge to read it, could it?”

The fleeting horror quickly covered by casual disinterest spoke volumes even as Bae answered, “I don’t know what you mean.”

It was Gold’s second snort of the evening and it sent Bae’s cheeks on fire. 

“I’m going to read in the library, tip the delivery man and please, don’t eat everything,” Gold told him, patting his shoulder.

At the boy’s nod, Gold relocated himself into his library. When he’d first moved into the house, it had been a drab empty space with a dusty couch fraying at the edges that had been tucked away into a corner. The Victorian house had the cylindrical rooms on the side, closely resembling a tower. He’d turned the one just to the left of the front door into the library. Special order bookcases to fit seamlessly with the round walls had been ordered and installed. The cherry wood used had a deep red hue that reflected warm light pleasantly. He’d had the floors dug up and replaced with a warm brown mahogany before adding a spiral staircase to the second floor where he’d included more bookcases. The windows, large and wide, allowed natural light in throughout the day and the tall lamps he’d had placed strategically throughout the two floors enabled parts of the library to be illuminated without harsh light when the sun had sunk below the horizon. The frayed, old couch had been removed after discovering mothballs filling in the edges. He’d replaced it with a wide sofa, staying away from leather at Bae’s request. Deliciously soft, the rustic brown fit in nicely in the middle of the floor with an antique coffee table standing elegantly before it. Bae had rather overtaken the second floor, sneaking in two beanbag chairs and even though the boy disliked reading, he still took his homework up there, spreading it out before him on a low standing Japanese table he’d scrounged up from somewhere. 

Considering it brought the boy to be near him, Gold didn’t much care what he put up there. He ventured up there on occasion, if he needed a book, or wanted a different view, but it was rare, and the second floor didn’t have the comfortable armchair he normally relaxed in. After utilizing it for a decade, the armchair had been broken in to him specifically. The only piece of leather furniture in the room, it was a dignified dark nut-brown chair he didn’t mind relaxing in. 

That evening, after the food was delivered and consumed, Gold shed his suit jacket and tie. He unbuttoned the top three fastenings of the charcoal gray shirt and toed off his dress shoes. Nowhere else but home did Gold manage to relax quite as much and only ever in the company of his son. The slippers he put on, a gift from Bae, both served to keep his feet warm and save him from slipping on the hard wood floor in his socks. 

Sinking into the armchair, briefly rubbing the wide armrests, he picked up the book from the small lamp stand beside him, flicked on the light, and piled his feet onto the footrest. Leaning the cane beside him, he ran a hand over the cover before opening the book, hearing the small creak as he did. Quietly, he thumbed to the first page, settled himself a little further into the chair, and allowed himself to grow engrossed in the book.

And engrossed he became. Page after page he flipped, eyes absorbing the words as he read and read. He’d hardly noticed when Bae had entered the room, climbing up the stairs to plow through his homework. He didn’t notice how he leaned closer to the lamp as the sun sank below the horizon, briefly bathing the dark cherry wood in warm red light. When he heard the creak of the stairs as Bae came down, he finally surfaced for air and looked at his son as he marked his spot with a finger.

“Hey, Pops, I’m going to bed,” Bae declared, juggling his books, red-rimmed eyes blinking wearily at him.

Gold frowned at him with concern. “Are you feeling all right? You just got here.”

Laughing, Bae awkwardly gestured to his watch then shifted his books before they fell out of his arms and declared, “It’s eleven p.m., Dad. You’ve been reading for four hours straight. I thought you had some work to do tonight.”

Checking the clock hanging on the wall, Gold muttered under his breath, “Oh, hell.” Louder, to Bae, he apologized, “I’m sorry. I should have paid more attention to you.” 

Chuckling as he watched him get out of the chair, Bae reassured him, “It’s fine. It’s been awhile since you’ve taken the time to just sit down and read and relax. Besides,” Bae called over out as he shouldered his way out of the library, “it’s kept you from investigating the poor woman.”

Gold could hear the boy taking the stairs to his bedroom two at a time. He stood by his armchair, all his weight on his left leg out of habit as he stared at the book his right hand held, finger hidden between the pages, marking his spot. He hadn’t expected to become so engrossed so quickly. Certainly, he hadn’t thought he would get so far in one night. Plowing through well over half the book hadn’t been his intention, but now that he had and that it was late, he decided it would best serve to call it a night. Memorizing the page number, he snagged his jacket, shoes and cane, then relocated up to his bedroom, almost forgetting to take the stairs slowly. 

In fact, his whole evening routine seemed faster even when he had to close the curtains out of unfounded paranoia. The relaxed nature of the evening hadn’t served that well, it seemed. He glared first at the cane in his hand and then at the thick curtains covering the windows. Tossing it into the air before catching it, he succumbed to his cautious nature and used it to limp to the bed. He rested the book on the nightstand before slipping under the silk sheets. Settling in himself, he rested his head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, mind far too active for sleep. Tapping a thumb against his chest, he turned to look at the book taunting him beneath the bed lamp. 

_What could a few more chapters hurt?_

Propping himself up with the two pillows on his bed, he sat with the blankets tucked around his waist and opened the book again. Promptly, he read that next and last hundred and twenty pages. By the time he closed the book with a self-satisfied thump, it was one in the morning. The completion settled him better than counting sheep, and he laid the book on the stand with a smirk tugging at his lips before turning off the lamp with a sharp, deft twist of his fingers.

**~~~***~~~**

“Come on, Pops, we are going to be late!” Bae called, tapping his foot in an exaggerated sign of impatience. Checking his watch just in case, Gold sent an even stare at his son when he noted they had more than a half hour to get to the school building that was only five minutes away.

Tugging on his wool coat, he swung it on a bit forcefully and the end caught the edge of his briefcase, causing it to topple over. The latches popped off from the impact. 

Completely off.

Caught in the midst of coat flicking up his collar, Gold stared at it in shock. The faithful briefcase had been with him since law school, well worn, but still serviceable. 

Bae poked his head around the corner, hands busy fixing a scarf around his neck and raised his eyebrows at the object.

“Don’t think you need it anymore anyway, Dad,” Bae said, moving to crouch beside it to inspect it. He shot a grin up at Gold and said, “I think you’ve cracked this case wide open.”

With his words, he flicked open the lid to check the papers inside. Gold rolled his eyes at the boy with a huff.

“I can duct tape if for you, if you want?” Bae offered, a teasing wink the last thing Gold saw before walking away to rummage around for a different briefcase in his office.

“But seriously, Dad,” Bae said, following him with the case held gingerly in his hands. “You’ve been working really hard for almost a month straight. Can’t you take a break? Eat a full meal without this thing eating you?”

“I’d like to, Bae, but if I don’t keep the pieces moving, Storybrooke will get a department store, and we’ll have to move.”

Resting the broken one on the table, Bae wrinkled his nose at that statement. “That seems kind of extreme, don’t you think?”

“No less extreme than when you fell face first in the mud in front of Miss Darling and wanted to do the same. Now, let’s get you to school.” With that, he shoved the papers into the new case he’d scrounged up from a closet and breezed out the door, leaving Bae to follow on his heels, wondering how his father new Wendy’s last name.

When they pulled in to the school, the first person they saw was Wendy. Bae’s horrified expression on seeing both his crush and his father in the same vicinity quickly made its way into the family history books. Gold privately snickered at him as he waved off his son and the girl. Even the most feared man in Storybrooke relished in embarrassing his kid at school. However, the way the girl drooled over one of the star football players left little doubt remained in Gold’s mind that nothing would come of Bae’s infatuation. 

From the school building, it was a short silent drive to his pawnshop. He left his car there and began walking towards the library. As he strode down the streets, he felt the book in his hand grow heavier by the minute. It felt as though it were dragging him someplace. He couldn’t quite discern if the tug he felt ordered him to unload it, or to see its keeper. Repeating to himself that he just needed to return the book, disliking the idea of owing anything, he hurried to the clocktower.

The woman inside, the strange creature he’d met just a few months ago, remained on his mind whenever he had a spare minute. Whenever it rained, from drizzle to downpour, he wondered if she used the umbrella. Did she stare out at the streets of Storybrooke and think of what colors it would take to mimic it on canvas?

Or did she imagine other business to erect without his notice?

Who knew?

Tightly gripping the book in hand, he opened the door and stepped inside. His cane tapped against the wooden floor as he made his way to the book return before pausing. The elevator stood, enticing and inviting, calling for him to peek at treasures below. Namely, tea. 

A scanner, coded for the library books, prevented people from going down without checking out books. With a flourish that briefly reminded him of more nefarious days in Glasgow, he flicked the book up on the outside of the scanner and caught it as it came down while he walked through the contraption. With just enough force to keep the book from opening widely, the task of snatching it out of the air grew simple. He allowed the small bit of pride at the maneuver chase away the darker thoughts that seemed to haunt him whenever Glasgow crossed his mind in the barest of hints. 

“Back already?”

Gold froze, half wondering that after three decades of careful planning, executing, and finally running, he had finally gotten caught in something so maudlin. 

“Miss French,” he drawled, pivoting slowly to face her. 

Those thoughts, however, did nothing to help shake him from ogling her and his brain raced to think of a reason as to his appearance. As he said, “I thought I would see if the baristas downstairs know how to brew a decent cup of tea,” he recalled the perfect excuse he held firmly in his hand.

Her smile grew from welcoming to pleased. It had to be habitual; nobody but Bae smiled cheerfully at him. The woman had been living in Storybrooke long enough now to know of his reputation. Any goodwill he had acquired must have been squashed and sequestered away in the face of his ill-conduct and less than rosy activities.

“Well,” she declared cheerfully, ringing for the elevator and standing in front of it beside him, “the library never gets any customers this early, but the tea shop certainly is up and running. Let me fix you something personally.”

Gold had kissed fidgeting goodbye a long time ago. It did nothing but reveal nerves and turmoil. Yet, he found he had to fight the urge to rub his thumb against the cane handle or tap the ring on his right ring finger against the brass. The conflict went deeper as he desperately wanted her to say something and hoped she’d say nothing at all.

“Did you start it?”

Her voice, clear and soft felt like a balm to his pathetic turmoil. His tough exterior seemed to melt, just as it had every day of their acquaintance. Blinking first, then allowing his lips to curve into a small smile, he answered, “I finished it.”

“You what?”

Gold shrugged with one shoulder as he stepped into the opening doors of the elevator. Her eyebrows had knitted together and rose in shock at his declaration. She followed him in, mouth agape and a delightful smidgeon away from gawking.

“I’m a fast reader and I still took two days’ worth of reading to finish it. It is so full of different themes and motifs, I couldn’t just race through it.

Gold smirked at the closing doors, nonsensically pleased to have an opportunity to impress her. He had no need to, and he told himself he didn’t want to, but he still felt a sense of pride as he said, “I certainly found the theme of alienation rather fascinating. And the way Dostoyevsky toppled Nihilism? Fascinatingly and expertly done.”

The elevator signaled they had reached the bottom with a low _bing_ and they stepped out into the shop. A quaint little thing, it had an ambiance that encouraged people to stay and socialize. The warm yellow color on the walls helped make up for the lack of sunlight even as artfully designed paintings depicting both Storybrooke and parks on a sunny day hung with pride. Small bookshelves stood proudly in the back corner, most packed with books, others with board games.

The strong scent of coffee wafted in the air, but it was the slight whiff of tea caught Gold’s attention. Aside from the flavorful tingle in the air, whoever decorated had done his or her best to dispense with the notion of sleek, steel, modern cafés. In fact, he was fairly sure whoever it was had gone to various yard sales and picked up the most comfortable wooden chairs he or she could find and then carefully placed cushions on the seats. 

The chairs were only matched by the tables and those themselves varied considerably: none the same length or height or width. He followed her to the counter, almost surprised metal hadn’t been mashed together to create the espresso machine. As hard as he tried, however, he couldn’t help but think it quaint, simple, and a little rustic. 

Yet, Gold found himself confused.

It stood as an utterly astounding and confounding question as to how this entire enterprise had begun and been completed under his nose without his recollection. Surely he had not been so busy that such an undertaking would have gone on unnoticed? Yes, he was occupied, but not so much as this?

He strove to keep his mouth from hanging open at the thought and essentially followed her dumbly as he attempted to calculate when the paper work would have come across his desk.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle! Is today the day you allow me to pledge my heart to you?”

Gold blinked in surprise at the French man grinning cheekily at Miss French. It soothed him to see her roll her eyes and her smile take a wry turn.

“No, Gaston. Just like it won’t be today or tomorrow,” she said firmly, motioning for the tall man to move out of her way as she washed her hands before returning to Gold, bracing her forearms on the counter.

“Now, what would you like? I believe there is every tea available.”

Apparently, they were going to gloss over the French man’s odd greeting.

“Surprise me, Miss French. Perhaps your recommendations extend to more than just books.”

The woman eyed him, probably to determine how much snark he was sending her way, then shrugged. 

Instinctively, he knew she would make the tea right and as she measured and boiled and scooped with deft hands, he found himself not disappointed. 

He eyed the shop again, noting that the scant customers that had dragged themselves out that morning and littered the shop were studiously ignoring him. Some simply talked with each other in muted tones, taking care to never look his way. Others had found a table and buried their noses in books, finding them all the better to hide behind.

He found himself relieved when she poured the tea into a mug, the silence awkward as they waited for the tea leaves to steep. Preparing another mug which he supposed was for herself, she placed both on a small tray along with two containers, one for milk and the other sugar. She gestured for him to choose a table before picking up the tray and allowing him to lead her to a table nearby. 

The odd pair sat in silence, Gold focusing on preparing the tea, attempting to look at ease and feeling like a failure. A thimbleful of milk went into his mug followed by a cube of sugar. The drop disturbed the stillness of the liquid as it did his calm. The longer he thought about how this tea shop had come to be, the longer he pondered what she’d heard of him and his more…dubious activities

His quick mind ran through every reason she could possibly still want to sit across from him, her piercing gaze waiting for something. He felt foolish, hoping she would just want conversation, but he decided to save himself the headache and ask her out right. Maybe a direct approach would startle her into a confession of sorts. He didn’t have time for blackmail of any sort and he disliked being used.

“What is it you want?” he asked, breaking the ice and hoping she would ask for her extension and be done with the matter.

“What,” she responded after taking a dainty sip of tea, “you mean I can’t just want to sit down and discuss literature with someone interesting? I remember a stimulating conversation with you not too long ago.”

“With me? Not believably,” Gold snapped coldly. The likelihood of anyone willingly subjecting themselves to his notoriously foul mood at best incomprehensible. “Everybody wants something, Miss French.”

“Perhaps, in which case, I believe I just told you what I want.” The woman was smiling again, and he was torn between finding it endearing or frustrating.

“Oh, come now,” he pushed with a snarl. “You know my reputation by now. It is a risk to your own to be seen, let alone speak with me around here. So, you want something. And that’s quite alright. Most do. What do you think you can get from me, Miss French, lower rent for some polite conversation and tea?” 

The suddenness with which she thumped her cup down surprised him, her irritation like the liquid threatening to slosh over the sides. “Is it so much of a stretch to think that someone would want to converse with you casually?”

“Yes, Miss French, we have established that. Why else would you be speaking to me? Now, out with it and we can see about a deal.”

He had half a mind to demand her conversation as payment. Her fearless, sparkling blue eyes fearlessly met his even stare. 

And without warning, she seemingly changed the subject. “I didn't tell you back in Portland, but, I didn’t think I would ever come to the States, but my father has been having some health trouble. I just wanted to be here for him.”

“And?” Gold prompted. He felt torn between desperately wanting to know more about and feeling disappointed that she _wanted_ something.

“And nothing. I came here to be close to my father. He’s still ill, but we are doing fine. Now, I have said I was desirous of your company. Indulge me? What did you think of the book?” 

White teeth shone from the beaming grin she gave him, egging him on and daring him to argue. 

He couldn’t find any flawed logic to pick at. She seemed fine and for the life of him, he didn’t know why he was pressing so hard. So, he hesitantly did as she asked. 

Instantly he remembered why he had enjoyed their previous conversations so much. The way she wielded words with such dexterity and poise pleased him. He sparred with her verbally for the next hour. The devil’s advocate role had always come naturally to him, but she whisked it away and stole it for herself, searching for his opinions. It was an actual, intelligent conversation with a brilliant, witty woman.

They had moved on from the borrowed book within the first half hour and began discussing literature they both had read. If she were a fairy, she couldn’t have charmed him more thoroughly. The wit and sarcasm she dealt was tempered with a smile and a kind word that he strongly suspected she meant. He couldn’t bring himself to laugh, not if he wished to shatter his reputation completely, but she elicited a smile from him more than one.

It was a feat to be commended.

She wrested control of the conversation, her breathtaking knowledge of vocabulary denied him his usual demeaning word play and caused her to laugh instead. When he finally desisted from attempting to pry out her ignorance, he slipped into sly humor. It caused her to giggle on more than one occasion as he spoke condescendingly on some of his least favorite poets and subtly praised her loved ones. 

His thrill then grew when he realized that he had lost track of time in her presence. He knew without a doubt she had as well, and that sparked a pleasure within him. Which, when he thought about it, made no sense, because she meant nothing to him.

I’m afraid I have to leave, dearie,” he said, attempting to present a dismissive air as he stood. “I have a shop to open and I believe I am keeping you from your library.”

He collected his cane and mug, dropping cash onto the table with a flick of his wrist. Before he could replace his wallet, she caught his wrist with cool fingers. 

“Please, it’s my treat, on the house. After all my attempts, I can finally hold true to it.”

The words stopped him, but he made no move to replace the cash. “You know I can afford it. Allow me this one as well.” He placed the mug on the dish return counter and made his way toward the elevator.

“Really? Am I collecting a tab?”

Gold’s lips twitched. “No, Miss French. Your continued surprises will be plenty.”

She stood and walked over to him, her shoes clicking against the floor as she entered the same lift. 

“Is that all? I half thought you would ask for my soul from what everyone says about you.”

“Just your firstborn, dearie. Nothing so dramatic as your soul.”

Miss French laughed as they watched the doors close. “Are you sure you aren’t Rumplestiltskin?”

Staring straight ahead, he answered with mock seriousness, “That would be telling.”

She snorted, and he thought it was a lovely sound. As they stepped out of the elevator, she touched his arm again and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“Please, before you go, let me give you another book. I’ll return _Crime and Punishment_ for you,” Miss French said, softly. 

Gold stared at her, brown eyes drinking her in. He couldn’t deny that this had been one of the more interesting moments of his life since he’d moved to Storybrooke years ago.

He attempted to keep the eagerness from his voice as he handed the book back to her.

“As you wish, Miss French.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hopefully this will restore your faith in my updating... Anyway, let me know what you think of this chapter!
> 
> Also, I can't believe I forgot to credit the chapter titles as well as the title of the work. The words belong to Sandra Hawkins who wrote "Slow Love". 
> 
> Hawkins, Sandra. “Slow Love.” PoemHunter.com, 2 Jan. 2003, www.poemhunter.com/poem/slow-love.
> 
> There. I feel better.
> 
> Also, this is still unbetad. All mistakes are my own.


	7. Currents

Five words. All that had been necessary to have him walking to her had been five words: ‘As you wish, Miss French.’ The clocktower sheltering the precious library within became a fixture in his day. Before he’d met the librarian, it had just been the clocktower, the tallest building and a minute fast. Now, he looked at it and he felt a tug in his gut. Had he been a sailor and she a siren, at least then he could have had an explanation.

But she wasn’t.

Belle French remained an enigma. 

The bright woman flitted closer and away, dancing about him with words, stoking the fire that was his mind and urging him to feed it himself, challenging him. He found her startlingly well-read and knowledgeable about her passions and her dislikes. 

And her art. 

He found little drawings scribbled on napkins or papers wherever she had been. She carried a fine tipped pen that she took out and sketched with before she saw him enter the library. 

Every so often, he would see her with a drop of paint smeared on her skin, or black ink smudged on her hand as she drew. 

Quickly couldn’t stay away for more than a week. He’d tried. On the sixth day, he’d picked up the book lying tauntingly on his shop counter and carried it over to be graced with her charming smile and witty conversation. She dazzled him. Left his mouth dry with anticipation for her next verbal repost as he thrust eloquently with some adage he dredged from the depths of his mind.

As much as she said, however, she said so little.

It frustrated him to hear her speak about her future, the places she longed to go, and for her to cut herself off when she got close to home and nothing of her past. It left him feeling like a hypocrite considering that truth requires truth. 

It made him wonder if that was why they’d stopped calling each other by their first names. 

As long as she was willing to avoid that particular conversation, he was free to not bring up his own. He enjoyed her company and he knew the moment she discovered what he’d done, she would run for the hills and he couldn’t have that. The desire to keep her close felt nearly overwhelming at times. The balance was hard to find, however, peeling back her layers while secluding his own away.

So, he walked to the library as the season changed, leaves fading from green to produce gold and red and brown. And Miss French remained tantalizingly out of reach.

**~~~***~~~**

Gold slid his tie around his neck as he watched the sun rise through the kitchen window. Maine in Autumn peeked through as the red and gold leaves flickered under the morning light. Frost glinted on the ground, the cold declaring itself in nature. 

A sneeze got his attention as he pulled the silk through the loop for the last time. Turning, Gold frowned as he watched Bae shuffle into the kitchen. Another sneeze followed, and Bae buried his face in the crook of his elbow before he was overtaken with racking coughs. 

The boy shambled over to the stool at the bar and slowly hoisted himself onto it. Folding his arms on the counter, he slumped his forehead against them and let out a groan.

Parental instinct kicking in, Gold pulled out two glass cups and filled them with water. He then filled the tea kettle and set it on the stove, turning on the heat to set the water to boil. Opening the cabinet that held the tea, he pulled out a blend of chamomile as well as a packet of vitamin-C. Dumping the packet’s contents into the second glass of water, he set both cups in front of Bae before taking a spoon out of drawer to stir the vitamin-C into the liquid.

“Not feeling too good?” Gold asked, softly.

Bae lifted his head to shake it, sniffing. “I think I have a cold.”

Gold placed the back of his hand on his son’s forehead. He felt the heat on his skin and the weight of Bae’s head as he leaned against his cooler hand. 

“I think you have a fever,” Gold diagnosed, pushing the water closer to Bae. “Start hydrating while I make an appointment. Are you hungry at all?”

Bae shook his head before thumping it back onto his pillowed arms. Rubbing his back, Gold urged him to drink the water as he pulled out his phone and dialed their doctor. Unanimously, they agreed that Bae wouldn’t go to school that day. Or rather, Gold and the doctor did. Bae had fallen asleep on the stool by the time Gold had finished the phone call.

Waking him when the tea was ready, Gold asked, “Do you want me to stay with you today?”

He saw the brief hesitance before the sure shake of Bae’s head declined his offer. As Gold cleaned up the dishes, he said, “Babette will be in today to clean and restock the food. If you need anything, let her know. I’ll visit at lunch to see how you are doing. There is still soup in the pantry, and there is some medicine in the cabinet.”

Bae closed his eyes in comprehension, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. When he’d finished the tea, intermittently sneezing, Bae sluggishly moved back up to his room. Gold got the rest of his things and called the school to inform them of Bae’s absence before going up to peek in Bae’s room, bottle of water in hand.

The room sat in darkness, the light off and the blackout curtains pulled across the window closing it off from the world. From the light in the hall, Gold could see Bae flopped on the bed, sprawled across the entirety of the bed, barely under the covers. Resting his cane against the doorframe, Gold stole inside, unhindered by the tap of his disguise. Gently rearranging the sheets and pushing in Bae’s lanky limbs, he tucked in his son. 

“Papa?” Bae mumbled, eyes not even opening.

“I’m here.”

“I need to let Emma know I can’t meet up with her today.”

“Nolan?”

Bae grunted, freeing his hand from the comforter and flopping it in search for his phone. When Gold gave it to him, Bae sent out a quick text before dropping it on his chest as if the mere act of using his thumbs had sapped all his energy.

Gold raised his eyebrows at the boy’s phone, the news surprising him, but quickly put out of his mind as he watched his boy fall asleep without second thought. He left the bottle of water on Bae’s nightstand before smoothing his son’s hair away from his face. Shaking his head, he took his cane with him as he left the room and readied himself to start the day.

**~~~***~~~**

He checked in with Bae at lunch. Babette had lingered to get Bae anything that he needed, but the boy had woken up only for a few hours in a half-hearted attempt to complete some homework. Simply too tired to accomplish or learn anything, Bae slept the day away with full intent to tackle the night the same way.

Thanking the woman for staying, he tipped her generously before sending her on her way. He phoned Dove to take the rest of the day off. Shop closed, he contented himself to work from home where he could keep an eye on his boy.

Making a soup for Bae occupied the later afternoon. Carefully waking Bae up, he urged him to shower and then come down for dinner. When he did, slurping through the small amount that he could manage, Bae asked, “Do we have cold medicine?”

Gold shook his head. “I have to go pick some up as well as tissues. Anything else you would like?”

“Ice cream?”

Nodding, Gold cleaned up after the boy was done. When he’d finished, he shrugged on his coat and scarf, grabbed his keys, and drove off to the local pharmacy.

Once inside, he began to peruse the shelves for the appropriate medicine. Roaming through the asked, he turned the corner and a light voice startled him. 

“Mr. Gold, what a surprise! I’d just begun to believe that you don’t exist outside the library.”

Chipper as always, _she_ appeared before him with a grin a light touch on his arm.

“Ah, Miss French,” he responded with the full intent to say something witty and coming up blank. She thankfully didn’t notice as she settled a Nyquil bottle into her basket.

“Are you quite all right? Is Bae okay?” she asked, gesturing to the tote. Her smile dropped, chased away by concern.

“I am fine, thank you, but Bae has the flu and, well, we ran out of medicine.” He shot her a wry smile as he held up the object of his quest.

“Oh, the poor thing, how is he? Do you need anything? My mother made excellent soup and I still have the recipes.”

She nearly made him gape in surprise. For two months he’d been searching for an inch, a hint of something more and now just this casual mention of her mother? Schooling his features, he replied, “He’ll be fine, thank you. He just needs rest.”

Miss French nodded, the free hand not holding her basket reaching up to tuck a stubbornly wayward hair behind her ear. “Still, if you need anything…”

As her arm dropped, he noted two bleach stains on the cuff of her sleeve. Looking her over, he realized she was dressed similarly to the way he’d met her: Lucky sweatshirt, jeans, and trainers.

“Your lucky sweatshirt,” he said, softly.

Belle blinked in confusion before glancing down to see what she wore. When she raised her head again, he could have sworn she was glowing. 

“You remember.”

“How could I forget?” he asked, the memory a fond one now and locked away to be ~~treasured~~ remembered at his leisure. “I should have known you were an artist the moment I looked at you.”

Belle huffed a laugh, brushing her cheek with the sleeve. “I hadn’t been able to do much painting for a bit before I met you. It is very fair of you to not even consider it, honestly.”

“Oh, no, Miss French,” Gold said, shaking his head. “It’s in your very air. Artist first, bibliophile second, I’m afraid.”

He could have sworn she blushed, but it must have been the lighting.

Looking down, unable to meet her eyes for some odd reason he couldn’t place, he saw what was in her basket and the Nyquil she had placed in it finally registered with him.

He scrutinized her for any sign of illness, desperately trying to convince himself that the gut-wrenching concern he felt solely depended on the fact that his friend might be ill.

“Are you, ah, quite well yourself?” he gestured with his forefinger of the hand that rested on his cane.

She drew her eyebrows together, staring blankly at him until she realized what she had in her basket and her eyes went wide with the realization.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, thank you! My roommate woke up sick this morning and it just so happens that we are now out of medicine ourselves.

She made a cheeky show of peeking into his tote. “You know, Mr. Gold, until about two minutes ago, I was quite certain you had everything delivered to your home. Now I see this soup and I’m fairly sure it’s the cheapest on the shelf. Aren’t you only allowed to get the fancy kinds?”

He flashed his gold tooth in a shark-like smile at her teasing. “I’m trying to add an air of eccentricity to my name and see what it is like to be the common man.”

She giggled and tucked the same errant lock of hair behind her ear again.

“Oh, please,” she said with the slightest roll of her eyes. Moving around him toward the freezers, speaking over her shoulder, “You could never be common.”

It was a close thing, choking back, ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ even as he trailed after her, perusing the ice cream selection as if it had been his destination all along. “It’s not for me,” he said by way of explanation. “Bae calls it his comfort food.”

 

“Ah, I see. Mine was always my mom’s tomato soup. I swear, she only ever canned them in case I got sick. She always attempted make grilled cheese to go with it, but she somehow burned the sandwich very time. She only seemed to get the hang of it a few months before she…”

The carefully blank face that Gold maintained as he nonchalantly glanced at her had been cultivated after years of necessity. He watched as Miss French’s smile slipped away and the light that had been so bright seemed to seep from her very skin.

“But, ah, that’s no matter anymore,” she said with a brief shake of her head. “I do hope your son feels better soon. If you need anything, please, don’t hesitate to ask. And Mr. Gold,” she said, her eyes fixing him in his place, “You are more than welcome to call me Belle.”

She collected her ice cream without another word and walked away. Sensing that her brusque departure stemmed from a desire to be left alone, he reluctantly remained before the freezers and selected a pint. 

He tried not to allow his eyes to follower her as she left, her shoulders slumped and head bowed. Was her past too painful to remember? Was that her reason? As he bought his items, his recalled how withdrawn her expression had become after the mention of her mother. As far as he was aware, Maurice French had no wife. His conclusion, then, as he exited the store and lowered himself into the Cadillac, was that either her parents were divorced, or her mother was dead.

His inclination leaned toward that latter, his question tending towards the recency.

His car parked in front of his house, he rested his hands on the steering wheel. He knew he wanted to foster his acquaintance (friendship?) with Miss French, but he had not stopped to consider that she may not want the same thing. To his current knowledge, he could just be a casual acquaintance that she enjoyed for mental stimulation. She might not care for him at all. In fact, she might simply be putting up with him out of pity.

Of all his revelations and musings, that was his least favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update schedule? What is that? Whoops! I was totally supposed to have this up yesterday. Obviously that didn't work out. I had to do some last minute editing and then life got in the way. Anyway, here you are. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Please keep in mind that this is unbetaed. Again, leave comments to tell me what you think. I like your feedback!


	8. Clearing the Way

Regina Mills had the misfortune of being the only daughter to the distinctly unpleasant Cora Mills. The question could be raised as to whether the sweet temper she’d possessed as a child would have remained had Cora not been her mother. Regina would have said yes in an instant, others would not have been quite so quick to concur. Many agreed that her disposition was naturally foul and the smile she wore tended toward more malicious than benign. 

Had it not been for a particularly irritatingly unflappable Mr. Gold, she would have ruled Storybrooke with an iron fist as mayor. As it was, she controlled the town with a wooden one. People feared her, this a hard fact, but everyone knew that Mr. Gold truly owned the town.

Both, no doubt, would have found it humorous to learn that when coincidence led them to occupy the same room, some townspeople contemplated leaving as the two leviathans reared their heads and spat at each other.

Regina was not inclined to actually threaten Mr. Gold. Her mother had warned of him before succumbing to illness. She’d never quite made out what those last words had been, but ‘dangerous’ certainly had been one of them and it had made her wary of Gold ever since. 

She quickly discovered that deathbed warnings weren’t necessary to warn her of the man. It didn’t matter that he was just shy of her height and that in heels she towered over him. Mr. Gold had the presence and aura of intimidation and when she heard the tap of his cane, the soft limping tread of his leather shoes, and the whisper of his three-piece suits, she forced herself to swallow her fear. 

This was why when Killian Jones rang her three months back to remind her of her mother’s place in crime and offered to pull one over on Gold, she’d excepted without hesitation.

Now, standing by her front door, she had the sinking feeling that she really ought to have hesitated. 

Sydney, her devoted lackey, pulled the black sedan into her driveway before turning off the vehicle and stepping out. He waved a hesitant hand at her with an even more skittish smile before opening the passenger door. 

A tall man stepped out. By all counts, he was handsome. His square jaw and straight nose screamed symmetry. Thick black hair on his head stood neatly trimmed and his beard grew full and well kept. A hoop dangled from his ear and Regina came to the conclusion that he looked slightly roguish and hardly threatening. Another man stepped out, clad in the same type of leather jacket the tall man wore. Shorter and plainer, he possessed a much less impressive air than his partner.

They walked to her, a distinct swagger in their stride that could have been attractive had she not known their danger.

“Good morning, Regina,” greeted the tall man, a dashing smile on his lips. The smaller man rolled his eyes and stuck out his hand.

“Regina, I’m Liam and this is my brother, Killian.”

Regina shook his hand and then his brother’s. She gestured for them to come inside, attempting rationalize the unsettling feeling in her stomach away.

The room she led them to boasted a pristine black couch, a small, sleek, and metal coffee table, and two elegant ebony armchairs. The walls painted white, gave a stark contrast to the furniture within. 

“Nice place, you’ve got,” Killian commented, as he made himself at home in one of the armchairs, hooking his knee over the arm. 

“Thank you,” Regina said, watching as Liam took the other chair and left her on the couch. As mayor, she appreciated a good power play when she saw one. She simply preferred to be on the other side of it. 

Killian watched as she smoothed out her pencil skirt before perching herself on the cushion. “We’ll get right down to it. No use beating around the bush. Why don’t you tell us about any developments that have gone on while we’ve been making our way over?”

He couldn’t have asked a worse question. When he had phoned her over two months ago, he’d let her know that there had been a unanimous decision to have her start distracting Gold before they ventured over. It had given her ample time to put her pieces in place, but she hadn’t counted on Gold seeking out the librarian on his own.

“Well,” she started, mind racing as to how to deliver the news as softly as possible, “I did as you asked. Mr. Gold and I are currently battling out a financial game to own land. He believes I am trying to use it to build a mall.”

“And it has his attention?” Liam asked, resting his elbows on his knees fixing green eyes. 

“Yes, a good amount of it. I began it in September. It took time to put it all in place, you see.”

The hesitancy in her voice must have alerted Killian who, previously lounging with a bored expression, perked up.

“But?” the word was a low growl as he leaned forward in the chair, storm brewing darkly on his face.

Regina almost bit her lip, but heard her mother admonishing her and sat up straight instead.

“Mr. Gold met Miss French late August. He’s established an acquaintance with her since,” she said and held up a hand to forestall Killian’s complaint. “Before you say anything, know that they only ever see each other at her library. I have reason to believe that it is just that, an acquaintance.” 

There was a satisfying flicker of confusion on the brother’s faces and Regina took that as leave to continue. 

“Neither truly seek each other outside of the library. He’s seen her even less after I enacted the distraction for him. His visits have dwindled to about twice a month.”

Liam nodded, looking distinctly relieved. Killian hid his expression better, but the harsh line of his mouth softened, and he relaxed back into the chair. 

“All right, why don’t you tell us about what you are doing in detail. We can decide on further action if Gold grows too involved with Miss French,” said Liam with a grim smile. 

Regina, letting out a breath, began to inform them of her proceedings, her deals, and generally how she was keeping Mr. Gold busy. The men, clearly not knowledgeable about the variety of numbers and names she presented to them, asked few questions during her exposition. When she had finished, Killian stood and wandered to the mantle over the fireplace, sparsely decorated with photographs.

“That sounds like good work." Accented voice clear despite his direction, Killian gripped his hands behind his back. “I won’t make an entrance if I can help it. Not yet. If Gold is distracted, that should wean Belle off him. It’ll make it easier for me in the long run.”

He folded his hands behind him as he inspected the small still of her mother standing stiffly in the frame.

“What do you plan to do with her?” Regina asked, curiosity second to wishing he would stop staring at the woman.

“Whatever is necessary,” said Killian, pivoting neatly to face her. The sadistic grin he wore could have graced Cora just as easily and the thought sent a shiver down her spine.

“Whatever is necessary, Regina,” he repeated, punctuating her name with a wink.

What had she gotten herself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my apology for my tardiness. Also, the past two chapters haven't had a whole lot to them and this one is fairly short. I hope you enjoy this too!


	9. Autumn Wind

Gold celebrated Thanksgiving mostly for Bae. It had always been a quiet affair with no family to speak of and all Bae’s mates occupied by their own parents and siblings. As an American holiday, Thanksgiving was not celebrated in Scotland where Gold had lived half his life and he never felt particularly inclined one way or the other to participate in turkey and pie. 

With no family tying them to the state, however, Gold took the opportunity to take his son on vacation and had done so every year since the lad had been large enough. With limited amount of time for traveling due to Bae’s school, they frequently went to Canada or the states adjacent or near to Maine. 

Bae had learned how to snowboard during these trips as well as how easy it was to scare his father half to death when he broke a bone on the slopes. It had taken all of Gold’s power to prevent himself from banning Bae from snowboarding from the rest of his natural life. Reminding himself of a parent’s job to raise a child capable of independence had only done so much to convince him. 

This year, however, Gold felt the pressure of his work. The days he spent and the long hours he pulled working on squashing Regina’s plans left him with little time to consider planning a trip with the boy. Each time he undercut one area, the woman raised another like a hydra, although he was more likely to call her a gorgon to her face. 

His struggle continued to rage as they got closer to what Bae affectionately called “Turkey Day” and when he came down on the weekend prior, cane thumping against the staircase, he encountered Bae in the kitchen in his pajamas.

“Hey Pops!” Bae called, pouring milk into a bowl of cereal. “Want some?” He shook the cereal box, rattling the contents. 

The sight of his son awake before him on a weekend surprised Gold. Walking over to the coffee maker, he found, to his continued shock, the machine on and the black bitter liquid hot and ready in the pot.

“I made you some coffee,” Bae said, gesturing with his spoon at the machine. 

Gold thanked him as he pulled out a mug and poured himself a cup. Slowly, warily, Gold found his son was continuing to keep him on his toes, he took a seat by him and took a sip of the coffee before asking, “What has you awake this early?”

Bae shrugged, spoon digging into his cereal as he twisted it around. “I was just hoping to catch you before you went to work today. Haven’t seen you around a whole lot on the weekends.”

Fairly certain that his son had not meant it to guilt trip him, Gold still felt the twinge, a twist of a knife in his gut that mixed with poisonous regret. Staring at the cup of coffee, he attempted to recall with clarity when he had sat next to his son and spoken with him. 

“I know you are busy. I know you are going to continue to be busy for a while. I want _you_ to know that it is okay that we can’t go out for Thanksgiving this year.”

Bae’s words clutched Gold’s heart, sitting on it and pressing it down like a too heavy weight his muscle in his chest did not have the strength to remove. He’d forgotten it was so close to Thanksgiving, or rather, he’d remembered, but it did not register. 

“I’m sorry, Bae.”

Reaching out, Bae punched his arm lightly, small smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t be. I would rather a quiet Thanksgiving than a mall. Besides,” Bae continued, turning away to pluck his cup into his hand and hold it to his lips, “I wouldn’t want to have to move.”

Huffing a laugh, Gold took up his coffee and made a decision he knew he should have made a while back: To be present and to be a parent.

“There isn’t much time before Thursday, but what would you want to do?” 

“Stay home, eat a lot of food, and sleep a lot.”

“So a normal day then?”

Although Bae rolled his eyes, Gold knew the boy remained in a good-natured mood. They spent the rest of the morning together, reminiscing about past Thanksgiving adventures. Wincing when Bae mentioned his fall on the mountain and laughing as Bae animatedly related one of the odder situations he’d found himself in when they had made a trip to Montana, Gold allowed the morning to pass by him without much bother nor concern.

When Bae decided to go out and meet a friend, Gold paused him as the boy tugged on his shoes.

“What would you say to Thanksgiving in Portland?”

Bae looked up from his laces with a grin. “That sounds like fun!” 

He stood, looking down ever so slightly at his father who winced internally at the realization of how much his boy had grown.

“I’d like to make a wager, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Pops,” Bae said, running his hand through his thick hair while smiling cockily. “I’m betting that you are going to have to cancel plans before we can even leave Storybrooke.”

He lifted his finger and wagged it in his enthusiasm. “I’m so certain that I am willing to bet wearing those suits to school every day for a month if I lose. If I win, you have to wear jeans for a week of my choice.”

Gold stared at him, first in shock, then leveling a glare at him, he held out his hand. “It’s a deal.”

Clasping his hand, Bae said, “Deal.”

**~~~***~~~**

The day before Thanksgiving came around and found the two Gold’s packing to leave. Gold, confident that he was about to win the bet, closed his suitcase and made his way over to Bae’s room. While he had packed, the self-assured grin hadn’t left his face even as he looked up at his father.

“Almost time to go, Bae,” Gold said, smile broad.

Bae nodded and stood.

A ring-tone sounded.

Gold’s face fell. 

Bae grinned.

“Gold.”

 _“Mr. Gold, we have a problem concerning one of the businesses in the red zone.”_ Gold’s employee, Dove rumbled into the phone.

“How bad?”

Gold could hear Dove flipping through some paperwork before he answered, _“Could derail current plans and trajectory significantly.”_

“I’ll be at the shop in ten minutes.” Gold ended the call and looked at it almost mournfully for a moment before raising his gaze to meet his smirking son’s.

“I don’t suppose I can pay you off?”

Bae nearly glowed as he shook his head vigorously. “I hope you have more than one pair of jeans.”

“This week?” Gold asked, raising his eyebrows, trying not to let his incredulity show.

“Nope,” Bae popped the P and winked. “I’ll let you know. Go solve the problem. Jean week can wait.”

Gold rolled his eyes and limped out of the room, glad his hair hid the red his ears were turning. He had better calm down before dealing with whatever nonsense Regina devised. Although the day had…deviated from the original plan, he still had every intent of celebrating Thanksgiving with his son.

**~~~***~~~**

He didn’t spend Thanksgiving with Bae. He spent it locked in a legal argument with Regina’s lawyer which involved copious amounts of patience and a breathtaking amount of paperwork. They locked horns for hours after meeting at ten in the morning, bright sun glinting in a blue sky, reaching down with golden rays to warm the cold earth.

Four hours of arguing with a break for lunch had Gold walking out at three. He managed to reach his car before getting roped into renters’ late payment as well as a borrower that couldn’t pay. By six in the evening, he was ready to go home. When Regina caught him and proceeded to give him an earful for an hour, he was clenching and unclenching his fist below the counter, every muscle except his facial ones tense. 

When he got into the Cadillac, he refused to go home and bring work anger with him. He drove out of Storybrooke, taking himself to the next town over and entering the grocery store. Collecting a few items, body working on auto-pilot, he then got back into his car and drove back to his home, the time a bit past eight. The grocery bags crinkled and rustled as he bustled in through the door, hand fumbling with his cane and keys. 

“Dad?”

Gold settled the groceries on the counter, pulling out a frozen pizza and turning on the oven. Slipping out a pumpkin pie, whipped cream bottle quickly following, he tossed it to Bae who caught it with confusion. A loaf of bread chased by thick slices of turkey ensues and he lays it out on the counter. There is a cranberry sauce in the bottom of the bag.

When he looked up at his son, Gold wondered if the boy can see the desperation in his eyes. Most likely not, because there was a grin on his face now that he realized what his old man was doing. 

Bae placed the bread on the counter and moved quickly to pull out plates. He dug out four slices of bread and laid two on each plate before holding his hand out for the turkey.

“Get the cheese and lettuce?”

Gold nodded with a grin of his own, slapping the turkey in his son’s hand before moving to the refrigerator to pull out the requested items. 

The two threw together sandwiches and gathered up the desserts and drinks before moving to the dining table and taking their seats. Gold hooked his cane on the table and shrugged at Bae.

“I’m sorry it isn’t better planned.”

“Don’t be. This is perfect,” Bae replied, raising his glass of water.

Gold took hold of his and clinked it against Bae’s. “I’m thankful for you, Bae.”

“I’m thankful for you, Pops.”

The next moments were filled with simple food and laughter. Although they did not have other family, they had each other, and that was enough. 

Welcoming yellow light illuminated the two in the warm Victorian home, conversing as the day gave its life to night, breathing with a biting, swirling wind seemingly unable to seep into the protected house. It whirled around, sweeping and searching, buffeting the windows until it came to the rotundum and a thin strand poked its way through an unlatched window that Bae had forgotten to turn shut. If the wind had ears, it would have heard happy sounds from the dining room not far off. It breezed into the library, fluttering over an open book before inviting the rest of it to follow close on its tail. The force of it burst open the window with a bang. 

Gold looked up sharply, Bae twisting in his seat too see what caused the noise. Gripping his cane, Gold limped toward the library and the moment he rounded the corner and out of Bae’s line of sight, he stopped limping and held his cane like a weapon. 

Knuckles white, jaw clenched, his foot crossed the threshold and his eyes darted to every corner. 

Nothing.

Slowing, his heart thumped rhythmically in his chest, a steady beat, a falling crescendo from where it had once been. His paranoia was getting the better of him, he supposed.

A low howl alerted him to the window as the wind gathered itself to beat it against the wall. Gold cursed but smiled at the simplicity of the reason. Returning the cane to its intended position, he limped across the room and pulled the window shut, locking securely into place. The whole venture brought his attention to some areas where the seal was beginning to crack.

He would have to fix that before Winter came bearing its teeth behind an icy beard and feral red eyes. 

Running his finger over it with a shake of his head, he returned to his son where he quietly considered how happy he was to be able to keep the boy warm and safe.

His precious, lovely boy could be happy, warm and safe.

Nothing would ever change that.

And the wind beat at the window before slipping through a crack unnoticed, straining, struggling, striving to enter.

Waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha... Yeah. Life got busy for a hot second... It is going to stay busy for a bit, but I will try to be better at posting regularly. Meanwhile, enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think.


	10. Momentum

Gold thumped his cane against the sidewalk as he braced himself against the biting December wind. The cold seeped through his thick wool overcoat. While the material certainly withstood the brunt, like searching fingers, the icy weather entered through the slightest opening and fastening. The townspeople avoided him with wider berth than had he been a leper. Whatever injury the old dragon had must creak and groan beneath the onslaught of Winter’s wind.

The cold certainly did nothing for his rising temper and foul mood. In the midst of obtaining a contract and settling a deal that would make him the ‘proud owner’ of an entire block, he’d found resistance at nearly every turn. The mayor, strongly against the endeavor, encouraged others to dig in their heels. The resistance had forced him to invoke various favors he certainly would have rather held onto.

His influence in the town rivaled, trumped even, the mayor’s, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t an irritating thorn in his side. The two of them had been fighting tooth and nail over that particularly large patch of cement and asphalt in the center of town.

Having gotten it into her mind that the town could use a department store, the mayor had strived and sweated to make her dream a reality. Strongly opposed to having his privacy intruded upon, Gold had invested time and energy into crushing her dreams like a snail beneath his shoe. If that was not enticement enough, the block contained a particularly profitable mechanic shop that he’d had his eye on for some time. Getting that owner to sell proved more difficult than he’d foreseen, however. Luckily, the owner’s stubbornness proved to be towards more than just a general dislike of Gold. He strongly desired to keep his shop intact.

And more importantly, under his own control.

Gold tightened his grip on his briefcase containing a rewritten contract to offer the man. He needed this to go through. Once the shop was his, he would own the controlling portion of the block, enough to effectively shut down the mayor’s plans. She’d already commandeered his Thanksgiving celebration with Bae. He would be damned if he allowed her to steal Christmas as well.

As he rounded the corner to see the mechanic shop, he saw the owner walking out with the witch herself. While too far to hear their words, the man’s body language gave him a glimmer of hope.

The ‘Old Dragon of Storybrooke’ was a skin worn for a decade and he spared no expense as he put on his menacing half smile and strode up to them.

“My, my, what a lovely coincidence. I was about to go looking for you, Mr. Zimmer.”

The two snapped their heads up at the sound of his voice. The mayor glared at him as he approached closer. The mechanic looked partially guilty, but the twinge of relief told Gold all he needed to know about the situation.

“Madame Mayor, I know you won’t mind if I step in to speak with Mr. Zimmer,” said Gold, smile growing sardonic as he raised the briefcase just a fraction to bring the mechanic’s attention to it. Raising his eyebrows slightly in question, Gold turned his full attention to the taller man.

“When you are ready.”

Regina grimaced then glared, fury scarcely concealed beneath her cool exterior. 

“Now, Mr. Gold, Mr. Zimmer and I were having a pleasant conversation. You are interrupting.”

Any friendly pretense Gold exhibited, he dropped in favor of sneering at her. “Mr. Zimmer and I have an appointment. Perhaps you are new to the concept and would like to proceed in creating a scene. Your flair for the dramatic constantly causes many tardy council meetings.”

The mechanic shuffled his feet, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Ignoring his obvious discomfort, the mayor and the pawnbroker spat insults at each other.

“I don’t want to leave if this man is being threatened into selling. While I’m sure you are an upstanding citizen, there are certain rumors going around suggesting otherwise,” Regina said, her smile sweet.

“Oh? Like ones about you and poor Mrs. Nolan? Whatever did that school teacher do to you to incur such wrath?”

Regina’s dark eyes narrowed even as the lifeless smile remained on her blood-red lips. 

“No, I mean like the rumors about you and the librarian. What did you threaten to force her to speak with you?”

His words, as ever, he had control over and the irritated twitch at his lip was easy to conquer. Rising at a terrifying pace, however, was his temper.

“I wasn’t aware that you made it your business to stalk citizens,” he said with a dangerously lighthearted lilt after swallowing the building snarl.

“I like to keep an eye out for those who don’t know they are in danger.” 

“Perhaps instead of creeping and skulking about her, you should just tell her. Considering she is a far better conversationalist than yourself with a distinctly greater intelligence, there should be no trouble relaying the message.” His grip began to tighten on the brass head of his cane even as his voice dipped into a low growl. “The only problem I foresee is your own inability to deliver it.”

“Er, if you wanted to come into my office now…” Mr. Zimmer cut in before Regina could retort. The man’s cheeks red and he looked at his hands, a step away from fiddling with his thumbs. 

“But, of course. Lead the way,” Gold replied, smoothly interrupting the beginning flow of Regina’s protest.

Light gleamed triumphantly off his gold capped tooth as he smiled at the mayor before turning gracefully to the mechanic. He saw a gleam of triumph in her eye as she looked passed him, but still started when she called out, “Ah, Miss French! If you just wait a moment, I’ll walk with you.”

Only years of cultivating self-control prevented him from swooping in to stop this impromptu meeting for fear that the mayor would take his advice and warn the woman away. Allowing himself a short glance to the left, he saw Miss French pause at the mayor’s request. He didn’t bother to look at Regina. He already knew the satisfied smirk that awaited.

Attempting to focus on the task before him, Mr. Gold tried to keep his traitorous eyes from seeking out Miss French again as he closed the door behind him.

He failed.

The last time he’d seen her had been at the pharmacy three weeks and five days ago. But who was counting? He missed her, and it was only because he had so few friends that his heart raced and pounded at the sight of her. 

He was sure that if he repeated that to himself, he’d believe it eventually.

Raising his gaze to seek her out once more, it startled him when she looked right back at him. Her small hand lifted in a subdued and tremulous wave as if she knew the danger of associating with him before the mayor, but claimed it regardless. 

The mayor’s back faced him, but he decided that he didn’t care if she read into his every move. 

Lifting his cane, he gave her a small salute in the spirit of the regency novels she’d mentioned reading the last time they’d met for tea.

He almost smiled at the giggle she gave at his actions. When the door shut with an air of finality, he ripped his thoughts away from the alluring woman outside to the deal he desired to make.

“Right this way, Mr. Gold,” Michael Zimmer said, waving Gold through the open door.

The office was tidy for a mechanic. Minimally decorated in the small space provided, Zimmer had managed to make it welcoming. Various papers stacked neatly on the desk. Stapled with post-it notes or tucked into folders, everything possessed a label. Gold might have even called it meticulous had small car parts not littered the place.

Gold was offered a seat which he declined after checking to see if grease streaked the cushion like last time. It hadn’t been cleaned off.

Laying the briefcase on the desk, he flipped it open to pull out the amended contract. He presented it to Zimmer who had seated himself behind the desk before closing the case and resting it on the floor.

“Mr. Gold,” Zimmer began, placing the pages on the desk and leaning back into his chair in an attempt to appear unimpressed. “you understand that I don’t really want to sell, right? This is a courtesy,” he finished slowly, striving to not sound insulting.

“I understand that you are worse off than you would like anyone to believe,” Gold replied, tapping a finger on the top page, his signet ring glinting in the light. 

“Business can be slow in a small town, but you are certainly making ends meet. Quite admirable, except you are just keeping your head above water. I understand that growing children can be quite expensive. My own son enjoys the challenge of eating me out of house and home.”

The man refused to look up from the contract resting on his desk and Gold continued,” I also know that your wife is pursuing a divorce and a custody battle. Those can be…Pricey.”

Mr. Zimmer clenched his teeth before daring to whisper, “How do you know that? She only told me herself a few days ago and I haven’t told anyone.”

Spreading his hands, Gold answered vaguely, “I have my ways. Nonetheless, you will be needing money soon and your business, I’m afraid, won’t cover you anymore.” He folded his hands atop his cane and settled in to watch Zimmer digest the summary of his situation. His look of angry defiance had slipped away to frustrated and unhappy acceptance. 

“And your offer?”

“This ownership turns into a Limited Liability Company. I’ll own the controlling portion. The price has been appraised in the contract and I will pay that sum to you now. Potentially, there is money to be had selling auto parts here in your shop, not just your service. If you desire to spread your business in that horizontal manner, I will fund that.”

“How will taking my business away from me help my need for money in the long run? I want to keep my children, not lose them because I can’t afford a lawyer.”

“Mr. Zimmer, to be blunt, you aren’t the savviest of businessmen,” Gold stated coldly. “You aren’t capitalizing on your strengths near enough. With my expertise, you can focus on the shop and allow me to steer you from the red into the black, as it were.”

Allowing his words to sink in before continuing, Gold waited a beat before continuing, “I am not keen to running your business myself for long. If you are amenable, I will introduce you to a gentleman capable of teaching you the nuances after which I will limit my interference. 

Pointing at the contract without removing his hands from their position, he gave his final statement. 

“This ensures that you get to keep working in the place that you built. Sell to the mayor and you can watch this place turn into a market of clothes and perfumes. What I’m offering is a deal you want to make.”

Zimmer stared up at him, a twinge of resignation appearing in his expression.

“I’ll think on it, Mr. Gold,” he said finally.

“Good. You have my number. I’ll have your decision within the week,” Gold replied, stating the deadline without room for question, picked up his briefcase, and walked out of the office, leaving the man to peruse the contract at his leisure.

Briefcase emptier now and swinging from his hand, Gold braced himself to step out into the harsh weather. Wind tossed his hair into the wind, revealing the gray seeping in at the temples as he began to move down the sidewalk. Regretting the decision to not drive, he found himself hard pressed to keep the grimace off his face despite ensnaring the deal he’d wanted.

“Mr. Gold?” a very familiar voice called out.

Any regret he’d had vanished at the sound of Miss French’s voice. Although having been forced to cease their visits, it had been of his own doing. He knew he lied to himself when he decided he wasn’t hurt by her refusal to seek him out. Now, for her to call to him, asking him to wait and outside of her sanctuary? He halted immediately. 

Miss French hurried up to him, the black pleated dress she wore peaked out beneath her large pea coat. 

“Miss French,” he said as she stopped to stand next to him, “What a pleasure.”

“Not for long,” she warned. Instantly wary, he ran through all possibilities in his head. Had she been suitably warned off by the mayor? Did he do something? Was she finally going to make a deal with him? Did he want her to?

“You have an overdue book, Mr. Gold.” The words startled him. Observing her closely now, he could see the playful twinkle in her blue eyes.

“Pardon?” he asked, blinking, not sure he’d heard her correctly.

“You heard me,” she said with a growing smile. “You have an overdue book. I’m disappointed. I thought you of all people would be the last person I would have to charge.”

The thought of disappointing her sent his stomach tightening, but he squashed it as well as the feeling of relief that she still wanted to talk to him.

“Right, of course. My work has…kept me otherwise occupied.”

She laughed, that sweet sound more a balm than any success. “No matter. I’ll let you make it up to me with some tea, if you have the time.”

Gold might have been ashamed at how quickly he pounced on the opportunity to speak with her again had he not been so occupied with the elation she wanted time with him.

Luckily, they weren’t far from what used to be Storybrooke’s one and only tea and coffee shop: One More Cup. Coincidently, it was owned by him in his own way of giving back to society and the betterment of tea novices. It also provided him a place to get away from the prying eyes of Storybrooke’s inhabitants. 

He could just see it down the street and gestured at it, saying dryly, “Well, I wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of the librarian. I hear she can be quite ruthless in her pursuit of the negligent.”

Watching Miss French attempt to keep a straight face was almost as amusing as imagining her hunt down late borrowers as ruthlessly as himself

“Yes, I hear she marches up to people’s doors and demands both books and payments there and then.”

They neared the shop as he chuckled, saying, “I’m sure her imposing volunteers are equally to be feared as they enforce her literary law.”

“Yes, they are well known for the odd mix of concert pianist skills and a thug-like nature.”

He nearly snorted at the thought of the elderly woman behind the counter doing anything remotely terrifying. 

Gold moved swiftly to hold the door open for her. He attempted to not notice how her eyes crinkled as her pink lips curled into a smile, or how it felt when she gently brushed the arm of his coat as she stepped through.

“And here I was thinking it was their line of ceramic unicorns that got all the attention,” turning the conversation to the absurd as he stepped in after her.

“I actually know someone who makes tiny ceramic unicorns,” Miss French said absently, choosing a table towards the back and out of view from the windows. He tried not to read too much into that, hoping that she chose that knowing his preference and not because she didn’t want to be seen with him.

“Really?” he asked as she seated herself and he followed suit across from her.

“He’s very imposing until you get to know him. He came into the library the other day looking for books on art design and we got to talking about it.”

Gold cast her an amused look. “Are you saying that there is a thug that actually makes ceramic unicorns?”

Miss French clasped her hands on the table, replying, “Thug? I don’t know if I’d go that far. He seemed like a perfectly amiable man if a bit intimidating at first glance. I’m inclined to think it was the combination of height and eyebrows that gravitate towards one another.”

The description sounded familiar and he gave her a dubious look. “He didn’t happen to be bald, did he? Nearing seven feet in height?”

“Don’t tell me you know him.” 

Gold lifted his left hand in a helpless gesture. “He works for me and as you’ve no doubt realized, difficult to forget. I also make it my business to know who’s who here.”

Sitting back, she folded her arms in mock rebuke. “But not to return books on time? For shame.”

He nearly laughed. “Ah, yes. My recompense for my misdeed. What will be your pleasure this cold afternoon, Miss French? Earl Gray, perhaps, to warm you? An Oolong for a taste of foreign flavor? Or maybe a Darjeeling? They have a good selection here.”

Tilting her head at him as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and damn him if it wasn’t the same as before, she replied, “Do you think they have as many options as my little teashop?”

Distracted by the lock of chestnut threatening to slip away again, he replied belatedly, “Ah, no, I don’t think the owner was quite as thorough as you in that regard.”

Her hands moved to lay flat on the table, her decision made. “Surprise me, then.”

“As you wish, Miss French,” he said, standing. The repetition of the words reminded him of how he ended their conversations, money at the ready to flick down after asking what she wanted. Her continued request to get him another book signaled him to put down the bills with a flick of his wrist and say, ‘As you wish’. 

It led to a pleasant tingle between his ribs as he contemplated how refreshing it was to start something instead of end it with the phrase.

When he moved toward the counter, the man before him took one glance at him then gestured for Gold to go first. The barista behind the counter was far less nervous than the one at the register, but then he’d confidently made tea for as long as the shop had hired him.

Gold returned with two identical cups, placing one before her.

“Feel free to reject it if it isn’t to your liking,” Gold offered her before taking a sip of his own after seating himself again. He rested his cane against the table, out of the way.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said flippantly. She tasted it, blinking in surprise at what he assumed was the sweet taste. 

“London Fog? I thought you would never put more than a splash of milk in your tea.”

“I am a man of mystery.”

Miss French took another sip before attempting a nonchalant segue. “That brings me to my ulterior motive for speaking with you today.”

Gold stiffened. Would today be the day she collected on his good humor toward her? She couldn’t possibly be aware that even if it only proved that she wanted something, he would give her whatever she asked for. Even so, he felt a chill shudder through him at the thought of being proved right. She could ask for anything, but not at the price of her conversation. 

Not at the price for her friendship. 

“The mayor went out of her way to warn me about you, Torquil. I know I am new to small town life, but that seems… Odd.”

His caution remained for an entirely different reason at her words.

“And what did she say exactly?” His relaxed posture and delivery considerably smoother than her own attempt.

“Apparently, you are quite the loan shark,” she said, tilting her head. “I have heard it said before, but after speaking with her, I might very well be under the impression that you are some dark sorcerer hiding up in your castle crafting curses.”

He nearly sputtered into his drink at her description. “Is that your conclusion? Am I the villain she makes me out to be?”

Reaching out, she touched his hand, her own quite warm from the tea. It sent a wonderful thrill up his arm and raised the hair pleasantly on the back of his neck.

“I doubt you are as dark as people say.”

Gold leaned forward, made brave by her words, gold tooth glinting as he threw her a faux menacing look.

“Darker, dearie, much darker.”

She laughed at that as if he hadn’t been half serious. “Well, Storybrooke is too small for any organized crime, so I think in that you are safe, although your car would have suggested otherwise.”

“What’s wrong with my car?”

Retrieving her hand, she wrapped it around her cup again and he instantly missed her touch. She blinked up at him, cerulean eyes that he had missed so dreadfully filled with mirth. 

“I may not watch many movies, but every single one that I have seen involving organized crime has some form of an old black Cadillac driving through the streets.”

“I do hope you won’t let your prejudice for my car color your perception of me.” He took a sip to prevent himself from proceeding to beg her to not judge him based on a car of all things.

“I think you _got_ the car to color people’s perception of you,” she said before taking a delicate sip while he nearly spewed his drink. He coughed and when he looked at her, he could have sworn that humorous smile she wore tended toward coquettish.

“Really, dearie? It couldn’t possibly be because it’s comfortable?” 

She laughed, one that seemed to bubble up from her reservoir of good nature. “No, it really couldn’t, although, it certainly is a perk.”

“So, then,” Gold said, turning the conversation away from his vehicle and delving into the root of the matter. He rested his back against the chair and appraised her. “Did the mayor successfully dissuade you? Are you left with a sense of ill-boding towards me?”

Rationally, he knew that the pause she held lasted for a second, but it could very well have been a minute. Her eyes slid from his to the window behind him and then back.

“No, it didn’t,” she stated, no other signs of hesitance than her earlier pause. It rang with decisiveness and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. 

“The mayor has some other motive, that much is clear. It was very…forced, although, what she gains from slandering you, I’ll probably never know. Which is to say,” and she smiled here, her eyes crinkling as she reached for his hand again and he thanked whoever listened that she was so tactile, “you make a much better friend and I prefer you to her any day.”

It was hesitantly that he allowed his fingers to grip her hand. The loosest of things, she would have been able to pull her hand away at any moment.

But she didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apology of sorts. A new chapter on the day it is supposed to be updating... As if that is a thing that will happen consistently.... I make no promises, but I hope you enjoy. Remember to comment and leave a review! Read on, read on.
> 
> Also, I hope you had a great holiday for those in America. For everyone else, I hope your November was just swell.


	11. Ozone

Liam half believed that his brother would explode with rage at the sight of Mr. Gold escorting Belle French into the small café. A flush had run up his neck, spreading to his cheeks even as his eyebrows drew together and lips pulled into a deep scowl. He rested a hand on his brother’s arm and jerked his head, meaning for them to leave. Killian stood resolute, staring angrily through the window. 

Rolling his eyes, Liam grumbled, “If you insist on watching, can you at least not do it where they can see you?”

Killian turned furiously on his brother. “Don’t you see the magnitude of this situation? This isn’t just an acquaintance anymore! Hell, they look like they are dating.” 

He returned his angry stare to the window before slapping Liam’s chest and jerking his thumb for them to keep moving.

“This is worse than I thought. Regina isn’t keeping him distracted enough,” Killian growled as he buried cold hands into the pockets of his black jeans.

Liam took a second look at his brother, searching the expressive face for an explanation. This seemed like a more extreme reaction than to just another snag. Turning away, he squinted up into the sky, feeling the cold bite his nose and nip the tips of his ears.

“Killian,” he started, working his hands into his jacket pockets, “are you sure that this is just about Gold finding out?”

Killian kept walking, heels driving into the ground. “Yes.”

Liam blinked at him before wiping a drip from his nose with the back of his hand. Maine was cold compared to Australia, obviously, but even after a few months of being in the state, he couldn’t seem to get used to it.

“Okay.”

He’d figure out what nagged Killian soon enough. Surviving so long in their business had happened only because they looked out for each other. 

And because they shared everything. 

If they didn’t, they’d wind up dead somewhere in a back alley by some godforsaken building.

They walked in silence, Killian stewing as Liam shouldered through the cold that didn’t seem to bother his brother at all. Rolling over the situation in his mind, Liam knew that part of Killian’s fury was justified. 

Gold could not be allowed to interfere in this matter. Distraction was key, and it seemed that Regina had failed in that regard. Killian couldn’t make his move if Belle remained in such confidence with Gold, and their timetable relied on an ill old man who could suddenly fall into decline at a moment’s notice. 

At least Nemo’s men hadn’t come out to Storybrooke yet. That bought more time to flying under the radar, although, the harbor nearby would be ideal when they did arrive. 

Liam sniffed loudly, the wind blowing wickedly into his face before dropping away just as quickly. He wiped his nose again as he considered possible methods of distraction for Mr. Gold.

“Hey, how old is Gold’s kid?” he asked, an idea beginning to form as they continued to trudge towards their car. 

“Seventeen, I think. His birthday wasn’t too long ago, if I remember correctly. Why?”

Liam was relieved to hear the more relaxed note in his brother’s voice, even if he was a step ahead and couldn’t match the expression to the tone.

“He drives around, yeah? Got his license and goes on his own away from Gold?”

Killian slowed a step to keep pace with his shorter brother. “Yeah, should think so. Why?”

Squinting again at the blue sky as they stopped next to their small black vehicle, Liam rested his hands on the roof and gave a brief hum before he said, “I’m thinking of a way to distract Gold from Belle.”

Killian paused as he opened the driver’s side door, resting a hand on the edge of it and the roof of the car. “You better not be thinking we should abduct the kid. We’re trying to distract him, not shine a damn spotlight on us.”

Liam ignored his brother in favor of getting into the vehicle for the sake a few degrees more of warmth than outside. He waited until his brother clambered in and turned on the car before replying, “No, I’m thinking of something else entirely. I have to talk to Regina before I say anything, you know, see if it’s feasible. I’ll let you know the particulars soon enough.”

Killian pulled away from the curb without further complaint. Unsurprised, Liam fiddled with the heat until it blasted out and warmed his hands against the vents. Between the two, he’d always been the one to figure out the details. Killian remained the dreamer, continually seeking the end goal and leaving the particulars and nuances to Liam.

Killian was a charmer, that white smile opening more doors for the both of them than money alone. Content to sit in the background, Liam ran through more scenarios in his head. He was happier in the shadows. 

With a brother like Killian, one had to be.

**~~~***~~~**

Regina had proved quite useful when Liam had asked his questions, providing a list of names at his request. Mentally thanking Gold for his fearsome reputation in the small town, Liam scanned through the list, methodically crossing names off it. He needed a particular kind of person for this job, someone angry with nothing to lose. Gold dealt with many of those, it seemed.

Good. It left Liam with more than one option.

Killian entered the office Liam had commandeered from Regina. Only sparing a glance for his brother when Killian thumped down a glass of whiskey, Liam crossed off a name before reaching to take a sip of it.

“How’s it coming?”

Liam winced at the taste of the alcohol. His brother had dubious taste in liquor. 

“This upcoming rent day will tell us, but I have a fair idea of what we’ll be doing.”

“Care to share?”

Liam gave a lopsided grin as he placed the list down to take the whiskey firmly in hand. Killian gave him an expectant look as he settled into one of the chairs in front of the desk. He gestured to the slip of paper lying on the wood. 

“What are all the names for?”

“Figuring out who we’ll use.”

“Use for what?”

Liam swallowed more of the amber liquid. He swirled the cup, watching the whiskey coast along the sides, creating a small funnel before he stopped and took another sip.

“I think you’ll approve, considering your reaction to seeing Belle with someone else.”

“I don’t care who she sees. I just want her land,” Killian snarled, before knocking back the rest of his drink.

Liam didn’t hide his snort of disbelief. “Whatever. Just listen up and tell me what you think.”

Killian listened as he poured another finger of whiskey into his glass, nodding as Liam outlined the plan. When he’d finished speaking, he sipped from his glass and raised expectant eyebrows at his brother.

“What do you think?”

Killian smiled, sick humor creeping into his eyes. “I think it’s bloody brilliant. If that doesn’t keep Gold off our backs, I don’t know what will.”

The wince he wanted to express at his brother’s twisted pleasure at the idea was hidden by the glass as he swallowed the rest of the whiskey.

“Good, my thoughts exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy and review!


	12. Touch

Bright sunlight shone brazenly through the various windows of his kitchen as Mr. Gold ran a hand over his most recently completed book before removing it from the countertop. His good mood wasn’t from the birds chirping loudly at each other or the sound of a brisk breeze rustling through the trees that would probably only serve to make the day chillier. 

In fact, he would be lying to himself if he considered his good mood coming from anything other than seeing…Gold scoured the kitchen for his car keys and pretended that the only reason he thanked himself for opening later on Saturdays was because he couldn’t find them. Frowning at the bowl he could have sworn he dropped them in the previous night, Gold entered the dining room and found his son spinning the key ring around his finger. 

“Morning,” Bae said slowly, elongating the word with a grin.

Settling his cane in front of him, he placed one hand over the other and cocked his head at his son. “Morning.”

Bae leaned back in the chair, cocky tilt to his head as he continued to spin the keys around. Gold raised an eyebrow at him before gesturing to the objects rotating around the boy’s finger.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Yep! With you to the library,” Bae said, catching the keys in his palm with a jingle before allowing his grin to get wider.

Gold closed his eyes at the boy’s tone. “And why are you so startlingly happy about this?”

“Because I need literary assistance _and_ I get to steal your librarian’s attention.”

“She’s not my anything,” Gold growled, moving to the closet for his heavy winter coat. “And I don’t care where she focuses her attention.”

Bae snickered as he stood to go and collect his own jacket. “Sure, Dad. Since you don’t care, can I drive?”

Gold donned a scarf and snatched the keys from Bae’s hand. “No.”

“I don’t care where she focuses her attention,” Bae muttered, imitating his father’s accent poorly.

“I heard that.”

“Crap.”

**~~~***~~~**

Gold glowered next to his son at the librarian Bae spoked to about a research paper on poetry. The woman, he observed sourly, was _not_ Miss French. Her name tag read Elanor Potts and if that weren’t enough to make the difference stark, she was an old, grandmotherly woman with deep set crow’s feet. Gold, while not a betting man – at least anymore – would have bet that she had a platter of freshly baked cookies stashed behind the counter. Vaguely, he remembered her running the library before Belle arrived, but that hardly seemed pertinent now that Belle had and _wasn’t_ there.

Observant now, he took note of her blatant nervousness as she flicked her gaze between Bae and himself. Gold kept quiet, scowling instead of speaking, and that seemed to make her flustered hands more active than settled. Just as he thought that she couldn’t mover her hands faster, they settled, and her eyebrows raised in surprise even as a relieved smile crossed her face.

“Belle, you aren’t supposed to come in today.”

The two Golds turned to see the petite librarian approach them. The father drank in this casual side of the librarian as she approached. Rarely did he see her outside of the library, and even rarer did he see her splattered with splotches of paint. 

The jeans she wore bore a number of flecks as did her hands occupied by a dozen different. Her heels had been replaced by comfortable, sturdy looking boots, and he silently thanked her sense for not wearing heels in the icy, Maine winter weather. 

“I know, it’s my day off, but I had books that needed returning,” she said, jostling her pile.

She smiled kindly at the two, placing her books on the counter for Mrs. Potts to remove later. “What are you two doing here?”

Bae grinned impishly at his father before turning to Belle and holding up a paper with his project’s prompt on it. 

Gold watched as Mrs. Potts picked up the pile with a quiet, relieved sigh and said, “I’ll just leave you in her care. She won’t be able to resist a project.” The older woman slipped away, books balanced precariously in her arms.

“Thank you!” Belle called after her softly before gently taking the paper from Bae. “Let’s see here.”

Gold rolled his eyes at the cheeky grin Bae gave him and Belle as she looked up and beckoned them to follow her.

“Poetry, you must be loving this, Baeden,” Belle said, sarcasm clear in her voice.

Bae deadpanned, “It’s my favorite.” He followed her as she rounded the corner into a room before saying, “And it’s Bae. I’m only Baeden when I’m in trouble.”

“Well, let’s make sure we can call you Bae at the end of this project,” Belle said, stopping in front of a book case and launching into a lesson in poetry. 

As Gold browsed titles idly, he could only imagine the glazed look in his son’s eyes as Belle rapidly presented a whirlwind of knowledge. He hid his smile at the brief moment of silence before Bae stated flatly, “I’m confused.”

Her laugh came softly, more a chuckle than anything, but she still offered, “I am certainly willing to help you out further, but I’m afraid you can only do so much talking in a library and there is no Wi-Fi in the café.”

“You could come to our house!” Bae didn’t pause when Gold looked at him sharply. “Dad won’t mind. He has to open the shop anyway,” he stopped when he realized how forward that was and launched furiously into digging himself out of his hole. “You are probably busy today, but maybe in the evening? I can get other stuff done so I can focus just on this. You know, if you want to. Don’t feel obligated. I’ll probably manage something if you are busy, which, if you are, then don’t worry about it. In fact, you probably are busy, so you should probably just forget what I said.”

The scowl on Gold’s face turned to an exasperated look at Bae’s rambling. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and struggled to hide a smile at his son’s explosion of words.

Belle struggled to hold back laughter, her paint splattered hand pressed against her mouth and blue eyes crinkling with the smile tugging at her lips.

“It’s all right. I do have errands to run, but I am free in the evening. I don’t want to intrude, though.”

Leaping onto the opportunity and grasping it by the horns, Bae shook his head eagerly. “No, no! You wouldn’t be intruding at all. I need the help.”

“I meant your father,”

“No, he won’t mind. He’ll probably have something to do, right, Pops?”

Gold looked over his shoulder at the two. Bae stood just behind Belle and sent him thumbs up signs behind her back. He had no idea what the boy was referring to, but Gold limped over to them, saying, “If it is no bother to you, Miss French, I would appreciate the assistance. I really would like Bae to pass English. Would six o’clock be to your convenience?”

She nodded, her smile small in comparison to Bae’s Cheshire grin.

“Great, we’ll see you then!”

Gold gave a half smile as Bae took long strides toward the front desk, carrying books he had pulled out while Miss French had talked with him.

As he made to follow him, Belle placed a hand on his arm and he darted a glance at her.

“Oh, you finished it.” She sounded disappointed and for the life of him, Gold couldn’t understand why. 

Her smile had slipped away to a small downturn of her mouth and while he didn’t know what he’d done to make that happen, he needed to fix it.

“I came to return it,” he replied, his words unsure.

“Yes, I can see that. Will you borrow another?”

Turning to face her fully, he squinted at her, struggling to see her logic, to see what upset her.

“If you offer it, yes.”

That seemed to relieve her, but it didn’t quite fix her smile.

“Should I not?” he asked softly, still not grasping the issue. She shook her head, waving her hands in emphasis. 

“No, you should definitely take one. How else will I entice you to come back here?”

“Entice me?”

She chuckled at his confusion and tucked away a lock of hair before saying shyly, “You never come back without a book. I am quite selfish and even if you come back just for the books, I still want your company.”

Gold’s heart nearly stopped before it started again and began to pound mercilessly against his chest. Warmth began to spread through his chest before it suddenly clenched around his stomach like a vise. A thousand different meanings swirled in his head and only the first left a feeling of anything remotely pleasant.

Aware that he had stood in silence for a beat too long, he sought for words and said the first two that came to mind, “An excuse.” 

He cursed himself for not managing a complete sentence when she looked at him oddly.

“They are an excuse,” he clarified. “The books, I mean. They are an excuse.”

He couldn’t bear to say anything more, his lips pressing together as he dropped his chin and allowed his eyes to roam the floor. The ball, in her court, could be done with as she pleased. 

“Oh. Well,” she smiled, the genuine article this time, and plucked the book from his hand. “Come back without this. You are more than welcome.”

The awkwardness had settled enough for them to meander towards the desk where Bae stood chatting quietly with the Nolan girl. Emma, wasn’t it?

Gold leaned down closer to Miss French and tried to ignore the light floral scent coming from her chestnut hair.

“Are you quite certain, Miss French?”

He imagined that the look she gave him was the same she gave to those who damaged books. It held fire and affront, steel in her eyes.

“Quite certain, Mr. Gold. In fact, I expect you at the library Tuesday morning at seven sharp.”

Gold couldn’t help the flutter he felt in chest as he looked away and said, “As you wish, Miss French.”

He could only hope that his renters would be more forthcoming than usual that day.

**~~~***~~~**

“If you don’t have the money, you have to leave. The terms of the agreement were quite specific,” Gold growled, not caring to keep the irritation out of his voice. He stood outside the most ramshackle apartment in the grubbiest building he owned. The man before him, a reedy man, balding away lanky, stringy hair, clasped his hands before him, dirty fingernails almost biting into his hands.

“I’m sorry, but’s it’s been a hard month,” he said in his high-pitched voice while slurring his words. “I haven’t been able to find a job. I just need an extension.” The alcohol on his breath turned up Gold’s nose in answer to his desperate plea.

“I don’t give extensions. Perhaps if you worked instead of drinking away your finances, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now,” Gold pointed out with distaste. “Collect your things. You have until this time tomorrow to move out. Plenty of time seeing as you have so little.”

Turning away, he jerked his head at the two men behind him and they began to move.

“Wait, Gold, what about my kid? She needs a place to call home!”

Gold spun around with a sneer. “Please, Mr. Piper. Don’t try to play that game with me. As if your child could ever depend on you. She, at least, pays rent on time, unlike her drunk of a father. Now, get out of my building.”

He limped down the stairs. Compared to his morning, he felt more like himself, surer and in control. His breathing, unlike earlier, came out evenly and his heart beat steadily. Intimidation came easily to him. Miss French did strange things to him just by being in the same room. 

He had no idea what it would do to him to see her in his house. By the way his pulse sped at the thought and a warmth flushing over his body, he imagined it might be pleasurable and dangerous. 

Clambering into the black Cadillac, he sat for a moment in the driver’s seat. 

He could see her reactions to his own words and actions quite clearly. The small blushes, the countless smiles, the affectionate touches to his arm, seeking him out. The thought, however, of her discovering his secret…

No, that would quite ruin her. And he couldn’t have that. But he also couldn’t not have her.

With a short growl to himself, he turned the key, setting the vehicle rumbling before beginning his drive home. 

Where _she_ awaited.

It seemed like an eternity and if he was being honest, he took the longest route home without completely turning around. With every turn, he listed another reason why dating Miss French could turn out terribly. At every stop, he rationalized just how horribly suited he was for her. Pulling out, he reminded himself what he couldn’t give her. By the time he could see his home, he had convinced himself that her reactions were simply friendly, after all, Miss French tended to be quite tactile. When he pulled into his parking spot along the curb, he had decided that all she could ever want from him was friendship. 

For a moment, he believed it. The very next, he reminded himself that even if she were interested in him, he remained ill-suited for her and even were he not, should she ever find out his past, she would look at him with the same revulsion the town bestowed on him.

It was well past six, his indecision and business both having a part in preventing him from being on time. It only added to his hesitancy. He’d never been late to anything before, but as he approached his home and took the first step, he rationalized that the time had been for Bae’s benefit, not his own.

Perhaps if he reminded himself that just a friend sat inside laughing with his son, a sound he could now hear as he opened the door before hanging his coat and scarf, it wouldn’t be so hard to put her out of his mind. Gold followed the sound, tracking them to the library.

Belle sat cross legged on the floor next to Bae, a bright smile on her face as Bae continued to laugh, his hand clutching his stomach. She glued another popsicle stick down before picking up a sketchbook and adding to the image of a house already artfully rendered on the paper. The librarian noticed him first, her hand rising in a tentative wave as she greeted, “Oh, Mr. Gold! Hello.”

“Good evening, Miss French, Bae,” he nodded to each of them in turn, hoping he sounded calm, collected, and cold.

“Dad, hey! Miss French was just telling me a funny story about a poet friend of hers,” Bae shot a grin at her before saying, “I swear, we have made good progress on my project.”

Gold nodded, moving closer to Bae to first read the outline forming in cramped, messy handwriting before turning to the architectural undertaking in his library. He stood looking it over a moment longer, his eyes seeing, but not registering the words as he attempted to find something to say. 

“This looks promising,” he finally offered, praise for his son easier than a question to Miss French.

“Good. We’ve only been working on it for an hour,” Bae replied, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.

“Ah, yes, an hour. However did you survive?” Gold asked dryly, banter with his son slipping from his tongue before he could stop himself. Bae rolled his eyes before turning to Miss French. “I’d say he’s not usually this sarcastic, but then I’d be lying through my teeth.”

“Sarcastic? Never! Who would dare accuse him of such a thing?” Miss French quipped with a shared grin. Gold felt torn between rolling his eyes at the antics of the two, or just laughing with them. 

He opted instead to switch the topic of conversation. His earlier debate in the car still fresh in his mind, he decided it might be time to nip whatever this relationship was in the bud. “Work held my attention longer than I’d anticipated. I’d hoped to offer you refreshments upon your arrival. Perhaps some tea?”

Mentally, Gold pinched the bridge of his nose. As far as ending things went, a process he considered himself a fair master at, offering tea had never been included. The pink rose lips curved into a soft smile and those cerulean blue eyes placed him only further under whatever spell she’d cast months previous.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

“Since you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind one of those scones Babette made the other day,” Bae requested, an insolent smirk on his face.

Gold allowed a modicum of a satisfaction to show as he retorted, “Excellent idea. Why don’t you come and put some on a tray for you and Miss French.”

The smirk fell away rapidly as he set aside his notebook so he could stand. “Yeah, Pops, I can do that.” 

Miss French raised an eyebrow as she looked up at first one and then the other of the two Golds. 

“Now that my pupil is leaving, may I help you with the tea?”

Bae cut in before Gold could refuse her help. “No, we can get it. Feel free to take a look at the library. Dad likes to show it off and he doesn’t get the chance often.”

Clapping his father on the shoulder, Bae half steered Gold out of the library before he could say another word. When they arrived in the kitchen, Bae stepped around to face his father, folding his arms as he replaced his smirk with a strict glare.

“Okay, Dad, here’s the deal. You have one hour to get as much work done as you can before joining us in the library. I’ll wrap up the study session just as you come in and go upstairs.” He lifted a finger to point at his father’s chest. “Before I go, I’ll drop a mention of the new Mediterranean restaurant in town. That’ll give you an opening to bring up food and then, after you talk to her a bit, ask her out on a date.”

Gold blinked at his son. “Excuse me?”

Bae huffed and turned to scrounge up the scones the maid had left. “Come on, Dad, get with the program. Also get the tea before she suspects something.”

Obediently moving to start the tea, Gold tried again. “What program, exactly?”

“You know,” Bae said, piling blueberry scones beside the chocolate ones on a plate, “the one where she likes you and you like her and now you ask her out on a date.”

The bluntness with which he said it made Gold freeze with the kettle in hand. 

“I’m not entirely certain to what you are referring.” False calm colored his voice once he galvanized himself into placing the full kettle on the stove.

Bae went to wave a scone at his father before thinking better of it and taking a bite instead. “Oh, come on,” he said around the scone, “it’s clear as day. She makes you happy!”

“Bae,” Gold tried, warning in his voice. “You don’t know what you are talking about. There are other things to consider.”

“Like what? Your incredibly intuitive son who completely gives his blessing?”

“Astoundingly irritating child, and no, that’s not it. Quite frankly, it isn’t any of your business.”

Bae popped the rest of the scone into his mouth, ignoring the dangerous tone. Collecting the tray in both hands, he faced his father.

“I just want you to be happy. After…” Bae glanced away, steeling himself to finish in a hushed tone, “After Mom left, you _deserve_ that.”

Gold ceased fiddling with the tea leaves at the mention of Bae’s mother. The topic happened to be one they both took great care to avoid and that suited Gold. Every time she was mentioned, Bae poorly hid his hurt at her sudden disappearance, the clenched jaw and the refusal to look him in the eye only symptoms of his pain. 

Taking the tray from him, Gold placed it on the counter before pulling his son into his arms. 

“I am happy,” Gold whispered into his son’s ear, feeling Bae wrap grip his shoulders tightly. “I have you and that makes me happy. You make me happy, Bae. Never forget that.”

He felt a squeeze before Bae replied softly, “I know, but I still think you should ask her out.”

Gold leaned back with a chuckle, looking up at his taller son and wondering momentarily when he’d grown so much. 

When had he begun to worry for his father?

“I’ll think about it, alright? There are other things to consider.”

Bae clapped him on the shoulder before snatching up the scone tray again. “One hour, remember?”

The tea kettle began to shriek for Gold’s attention as he waved a hand for Bae to leave. 

“I said I’ll think about it.”

Bae winked as he exited the kitchen, leaving Gold to prepare the tea before placing it on a tray and balancing it carefully in one hand and beginning a limping trek back to the library.

Upon entering the room, Gold saw only Miss French; Bae had set down the tray and run off somewhere. Leaning his cane against his leg, Gold set the tray with the steeping tea on the table. He supposed he’d been quieter than he’d thought, for Miss French stood in front of a book case, her eyes riveted on the books lined proudly on the shelves. She was a touch too far turned for him to truly see her expression, but he watched as her hand reached up to stroke the spine of an ornately bound book. The way her fingers traced the length of it brought a soft smile to his face.

Collecting his cane, he moved to stand slightly behind her right shoulder. 

“Like what you see?” he asked softly, breathing out a laugh as she started, her hand jerking back to her   
chest.

“Mr. Gold! You, ah,” she blushed, the pink brightening her eyes even as she looked away from him. “You have quite the collection yourself,” she said, recovering and smiling at him as she gestured to the library. “I begin to wonder why you come to the library at all.”

He tried to bite the words back, he did. It wouldn’t do for her to only get hurt in the end, but he’d always been selfish. He wanted to keep her close, indulge in her smiles. 

Reaching out a hand, he tucked the lock of hair that constantly slipped away and replaced it behind her ear. “As I said, I didn’t come for the books.”

“Sorry, I had to run to the bathroom real quick! Right, where were we?” Bae collapsed into the chair before looking around at the two in front of the bookcase. They’d both retracted from each other, Belle pressing against the shelves as Gold took a step back, placing his hand into his pocket, still tingling from where his fingers had grazed her jaw.

“Erm, am I interrupting?” Bae asked hesitantly, shooting a guilty look at his father which Gold ignored in favor of turning back to the woman pressing a hand to her mouth. He could see the laughter in her eyes and he pondered how she could make him want to laugh with her.

“Please, excuse me, Miss French. I have some work to get done while you help Bae.”

Before either could protest, he limped out of the room and relocated to his office. There was a heat building up, air almost a struggle to get. 

Hooking a finger into his collar, he tugged at it to relieve the pressure. Loosening his tie, he leaned back into the simple armchair behind the desk. 

He was making a mistake. He knew it and yet he couldn’t help himself. Every ounce of self-restraint he’d collected over the years vanished in the face of Miss French’s blue eyes and addictive smile. He wanted to keep her safe and yet seemed incapable of protecting her from himself. 

Rubbing his face with his hands, he looked at the stack of papers on his desk. Work had always distracted him before and God knew he needed a distraction. Roughly running a hand through his hair, he reached out for the first pile.

Distraction, perhaps, was key for him too.

**~~~***~~~**

The distraction proved to be quite efficient as Gold completely forgot about the hour mark Bae had asked him to come. Apparently, however, Bae prepared for that eventuality, because he made quite a ruckus as he wrapped up the study session. 

Resting a hand on the desk, Gold closed his eyes briefly. Maybe now he could end this flirtation. Confusing for her, yes, but safer in the long run. Hauling himself out of his chair, he walked out to meet them in the foyer. 

Bae shook her hand as he said, “Thanks again, Miss French. I really learned something, and this definitely helps.” A lopsided grin punctuated his enthusiasm.

“My pleasure. I hardly need an excuse to rant about what makes literature so fascinating. Feel free to stop by when you have a few more designs in mind as well. I wouldn’t mind helping you at with the line work, although it is already quite good.”

Ducking his head, Bae rubbed his neck and shrugged. “It’s just a hobby but thanks. I could definitely use the assist.” 

Meeting her eyes and flushing light pink at the artist, he shuffled his papers and books before bidding Miss French goodnight, babbling some excuse about not wanting to lose his train of thought.

Gold surveyed him with a reproachful eye as he commented, “I’m afraid he has yet to learn proper etiquette.”

Offering an apologetic smile, the closest he could come to an actual apology, he started, “Thank you again, Miss French. I haven’t seen him animated about reading or writing in a long time.”

Waving her hand dismissively, Miss French replied, “Absolutely. It is my privilege to cultivate a love of reading. Besides, he is a wonderful young man.

She matched him step for step as he slowly walked to the door. Daintily, she held her purse in her hands and she didn’t have to say a word to make this difficult. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Her words caught him by surprise, his long-fingered hand lingering on the door knob. Tomorrow, of course, he was supposed to meet her. Now would be the time to cancel, to stop this. To keep her safe from himself.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there, Miss French.”

Her elated smile soothed his mental abuse. Just one more time, once more could he see her before he ended it. He twisted the handle and pulled open the door for her. 

He would see her again. Just once, but again.

She crossed over the threshold but turned back abruptly, surprising him as she laid a hand on his arm.

“Please, Torquil, call me Belle.” With that, she walked down the steps and to her car, not looking back once. He watched her get in and drive away before closing the door and staring wide-eyed at where she had touched him. It tingled as he covered it with his own hand. 

“Belle,” he whispered, his accent caressing the name before allowing it to leave his mouth, just as sweet as the first he’d said it all those days ago in Portland.

He was in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... Don't know what a consistent schedule is. I really don't. Just... Enjoy, please. This is a longer chapter, but I hope you like it. Things are going to get moving soon, I promise.
> 
> P.S. Leave a comment and tell me what you think. I like feedback.


	13. Thunder

“No,” Belle said, flatly. 

He sat across from her, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the mug, refusing to break eye contact.

“Of course you don’t, dearie. But, it can’t be helped.”

“This is completely ridiculous!”

“Belle, please, it’s just the way it is.” 

“No,” she stated, her voice firm. “I can’t believe this. After all this time and you say this now?”

“Belle,” Gold tried.

“I can’t believe you don’t like muffins! I’ve been serving them to you for months and you never said a word.”

Gold smiled at her as she huffed before sipping the tea. “It seemed rude to refuse you when you kept offering them on the house.”

“Please, you’ve dropped enough money on that table to pay for double what I give you,” Belle let out a soft chuckle as she shook her head. “I could have sworn you were going to say something terrible when you walked in here with such a grim look. The way you said, ‘I need to tell you something’ was so ominous.” 

The way she imitated his accent drew a laugh from him, even though it meant his plan was now well and truly shot to hell. 

He’d had full intention of walking up to her and finally ending _whatever_ it was they were. Even managing to start out mediocrely, he’d started to tell her, but she’d ushered him to sit down, taken his hand, and looked him in the eye with such warmth the words had fallen away. Phrases like, ‘it _was_ the books’ and ‘I can’t be attached’, had been replaced with, ‘I don’t like muffins’.

He wished he’d said something a bit more truthful. It was with a strange amount of guilt that he recalled the muffin he’d eaten that morning.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he offered while attempting to not stare mournfully at the untouched, particularly delicious looking chocolate muffin. Belle slid the muffin on the napkin away from him. “Can I get you something else? A scone? Croissant?”

“No,” he said quickly, half lifting his palm from the table to motion her to stop. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Well, I’m just glad you told me now. I had a friend who hated fish and chips, but his fiancée kept making them for him because he never said anything. She got a real shock when they went to a restaurant and he refused to let her order them for him.”

“You have fish and chips?”

Belle sniffed airily. “What, did you think that the United Kingdom squirreled away that particular recipe?”

Scoffing, Gold shook his head. “Of course not. Although, I’m fairly sure it lost something in transition to America. I haven’t had a decent one since stepping foot here.”

“At least you aren’t looking for haggis.”

Placing a hand on his chest, he assumed an overly offended expression. “Are you implying that haggis is _not_ the most succulent dish in the world?”

“Yes. It’s terrible.”

“You’ve tried it?”

Belle nodded, wincing at the memory. “After I moved from Australia, I made a stop in Scotland. A friend nagged me into trying some. Either it is an acquired taste, or it is just horrible.”

His shoulders nearly sagged with relief when she said she’d been to Scotland. To say what she did with such ease meant she’d heard nothing of him there. Even so, he didn’t feel inclined to linger on his homeland.

“Where else have you been?” he prompted, partially switching the topic. He told himself that the small downturn of her mouth was unrelated to his sidestep. 

“New Zealand, parts of Indonesia, and as I said, Scotland. The first two were vacations.”

He could sense the hesitancy in her voice as she spoke, but she seemed so willing to talk about it, at least more than she had been. He pressed, “What was Scotland then, if not a vacation?”

She bit her lip before allowing it to slide from beneath her teeth as her eyes found a place observe slightly to the left of him. “I suppose it was a vacation. It just didn’t always feel that way at times.”

He knew, then, that it hurt her to speak of it. He didn’t know what, but he offered her an out, an explanation that might be assumed that he was aware about.

“Your father?” 

Her eyes found his and narrowed briefly before widening to hide the expression. Shoulders losing tension, she nodded.

“How is he now? Better, I hope.”

It was the right thing to ask, apparently. It tore her attention away from her previous admittance and presented her with something to say.

“He keeps saying he’s improving. He’s so stubborn that maybe one of these days he will be.” Belle twisted her lips into an imitation of her earlier grin. “Until then, he’s the same as always, maybe a little worse.”

“How are you?” Unconsciously, as he asked, he reached out to touch her hand where it wrapped around her mug. The warmth had seeped through and the skin felt overly warm to the touch.

But he held on. 

“Better now,” she said, a true smile appearing as she took her hand in his.

He opened his mouth when a shrill tone emitted from his pocket. Fumbling for it with his left hand while he maintained a grip on her with his right, he looked apologetically at her.

“One moment, please.” 

Opening the call, he answered, “Gold.”

Gold felt the breath get knocked out of him just as effectively as if he’d been punched in the gut. He couldn’t inhale and the blood drained from his face.

The woman on the line continue to talk, informing him of his son’s situation. Only two words came to mind when she paused for breath.

“I’m coming.”

Hanging up, he stared sightlessly at the table in front of him in shocked silence. 

Not his son. Not his son!

Not Bae.

Belle frowned, concerned at the drastic change in mood. He barely registered her wrapping up his hand in both of her own. They were hot to the touch from the mug they’d been wrapped around. 

She ran a thumb over his fingers and asked, “What’s wrong?”

The words galvanized him into action and he stood abruptly, the chair falling over in his haste, hand slipping from hers. He muttered a half apology, even in crisis not managing a full one, and began to stagger to the elevator as fast as his wobbling limbs would allow.

_Not my son. Not Bae._

His forefinger rammed against the button repeatedly. Willing the elevator to come down faster, he didn’t notice the slight form standing next to him. He threw himself inside when the doors opened. Belle scarcely had enough time to squeeze in beside him before he closed the doors by punching the button for the first floor. 

When his hand returned to his side, it was caught up in her own as she gripped his bicep firmly, turning him slightly to face her.

“Torquil, what’s happening? What’s wrong?”

She sounded worried for him, but he couldn’t find the strength to hold himself together and comfort her.

_Not my son. Not my son. Not Bae._

Wild eyes rimmed with worry stood out in a shocked scrawl. “My son,” he rasped, “he’s been in an accident.”

Her hand covered his own, attempting to reach him through the white-knuckle grip he maintained on his cane. How could she when it was all that kept him from slamming his cane repeatedly against the elevator wall? His son, his only child, his whole world, he couldn’t lose him. Not Bae. He felt sick, ready to faint, as his stomach churned and clenched.

Like moving through sludge, the pace his mind worked. Bae needed him, and Gold need to get to him. 

Get to him…Bae crashed his car. _His_ car. He _couldn’t_ get to Bae. 

Gold stared helplessly at the ground. “He crashed my car. I’ll have to walk to the hospital. I _need_ to get there…. Oh, _Bae_.”

He felt a soothing rub on his back as the elevator door opened. “Gold, your leg… Listen, my car is just out front,” Belle whispered, her voice gentle amidst the gale in his mind. “I’ll take you there. Focus on your son.”

Gold leaned less on his cane than he did on Belle. The damned fog he fought to think through pierced by Belle like a lighthouse that called him away from sharp, dangerous, morbid thoughts.

He felt the shoulder of a taller man run into him. Under normal circumstances, he would have ripped him apart, but his son lay on a table somewhere. Bae needed him.

It meant that he didn’t care that the man wore a gold earring in his ear, or that Belle inhaled sharply as he passed.


	14. Lightening

She ushered him into her car, ducking Gold into the passenger’s seat when he seemed incapable of remembering how to enter in himself. She hurried around to her side and clambered in with a great deal more grace. 

The drive wasn’t long, but it seemed an eternity. 

_Not Bae. Please, not Bae._

They drove in silence; Gold staring out the window, jaw clenched tight and hands wringing out his cane. The moment they arrived, Gold managed to get himself out before the car even finished stopping to drop him off before she went to park. Rushing inside, cane hardly hitting the ground, he forced himself to use it even amidst the urgency. Fear for his son squashed any other feeling or emotion.

“Baeden Gold, where is he?” 

His words might have been sharp and clear, but there was a wild, desperate look in his eyes that galvanized the nurse behind the large desk faster than any angry glare.

“Mr. Gold! Your son is already in surgery. Jen will take you to the waiting room. She will answer your questions.” A wave of her hand motioned for the nurse mentioned to lead him away.

She gave what he supposed to be a comforting smile, but he saw only trepidation and concern. 

Never a good sign in a hospital. 

“What happened?” Gold ground out, still surprising himself that his voice was a steady as it was.

The nurse began speaking as she led him through a series of corridors and hallways.

“Your son was in a sidelong collision with another vehicle. He was hit on the driver’s side.” 

She glanced at him, twisting her lips, unsure he wanted to hear the rest.

“Tell me everything,” came the building growl since the news released.

“Mr. Gold, your son sustained severe injuries. He’s lucky they got to him so quickly.”

He laid a hand on her arm, halting her. “I need to know. Tell me.”

Nurse Jen shook her head. “I can only tell you what I know. The doctor will be-”

“No, I can’t wait that long knowing nothing,” Gold replied, his grip tightening on her. “Tell me what you saw.”

She searched his desperate eyes before he seemed to satisfy her. “I could tell he had several broken bones. He probably dislocated his shoulder and there were several lacerations from glass. There…Please, Mr. Gold, the doctor is more qualified-”

“No. Finish.”

“There was shrapnel in your son’s abdomen and metal from the car that impaled his abdomen. But, Mr. Gold,” she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder at his sudden intake and shaky release of breath at her words. “Your son is in the absolute best care. Have faith.”

She led him into a waiting room and asked, “Can I get you anything?”

Gold looked about him before turning to her, distress clear and present. “The Sherriff and a large cup of coffee.” He watched her turn away before calling out, “Wait.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“There is a woman coming. Belle French. Show her were to find me.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she replied softly before walking away. He looked at the empty chairs in the large room. Each screamed that the room was empty, and he was alone. 

So very alone if Bae were to leave him. His boy, his son. Gold knew he should do _something_ , call Dove, his employee to take care of the shop. But all he could think of was Bae’s bright green eyes opening for the first time as he cradled him in his arms. He remembered the way tiny hands clutched around his finger as his small mouth yawned widely. Visions of the way he’d first said Papa as he reached out tiny arms for Gold. 

He couldn’t lose his little boy. 

Gold clenched his eyes shut, recalling when Bae broke his first bone at ten years old. The way he’d wailed, clutching the flopping wrist to his chest and running for him. Gold had plucked the boy from the ground in an instant carried him to the car to whisk him to the hospital.

Bae had clung to him, sobbing and snorting as he tried to hold back his cries. He still had the ruined silk tie he’d used to wipe away the tears leaking from the small boy’s eyes. 

His legs felt weak, but he couldn’t seem to move to sit. Barely capable of squashing his fear to think, let alone be rational, he felt immovable. 

This _couldn’t_ be happening, not his sweet, darling boy. The laughter constantly in Bae’s eyes, the way he’d rubbed at his chin when he’d first started growing facial hair. The way he’d cut himself shaving and wore the slice with pride because now he could shave. 

Gold could feel sob of helplessness build up in his throat and no matter how much he swallowed, he couldn’t force it back down. He couldn’t _do_ anything for his boy. He was relegated to waiting, and Gold didn’t know what to do with himself. 

He stared at the empty waiting room, but he didn’t see it. He didn’t care about the brightly painted walls that were to inspire optimism. He didn’t see the chairs designed for comfort. All he knew was that his boy lay on an operating table getting glass removed from his abdomen and he couldn’t do a damn thing.

Why was he so helpless when it came to his own _child_? All the power he’d accumulated, all the money he made couldn’t save his boy now. Patience and hope that the doctors knew what the hell they were doing now his only tools.

A hand rested on his arm. He could feel the warmth through his suit jacket and he started at the contact. 

Belle stood watching him with those warm, cerulean blue eyes. Although she didn’t say anything, she reached for him, her other arm wrapping around his shoulder and tugging him to her, a wiry strength beneath her gentle exterior. She enveloped him in an embrace that he sank into, his cane clattering to the ground in favor of drawing her close and clinging to her tightly. 

He let out a harsh breath that escaped across her skin. Belle slipped a hand into his hair, running her thumb over the nape of his neck, a comforting gesture he hadn’t known he wanted but desperately needed.

She didn’t pull away until he loosened his grip on her and placed a hand on her hip to put her at arm’s length.

Her voice didn’t rise above a soft whisper as she asked, “How is he?”

Gold bowed his head, the enormity of Bae’s situation hitting him all over again. The long hair Bae used to tease him about fell into his eyes, hiding him from her. She raised a tender hand and pushed it away, cradling his cheek.

“How is he?” she repeated as he leaned unconsciously into her touch. 

“He’s in surgery now. It’s…Serious,” he answered, unwilling to admit the true severity of his son’s situation.

The moment she pulled her hand away from his cheek, he mourned the loss of the sweet contact, but she touched his shoulder and guided him to one of the chairs he hadn’t been able to bring himself to before. When she’d gotten him settled, she retrieved his cane and placed it beside him before taking the chair next to him and gripped his left hand in hers. 

“Do you need to call someone to cover your shop while you’re here?”

The soft words gave him something to focus on, a task. A distraction.

Gold shook his head. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and began to dial Dove’s number. 

The giant picked up the phone after the first ring, his rumbling bass answering across the line. Gold could feel the soft fingers running soothingly over his palm and the back of his hand. It grounded him as he appraised Dove of his situation and requirements. 

Intelligent and anticipating as always, Dove offered to order a new vehicle for Gold of the same make and model. He asked for approval to complete the Zimmer deal for which Gold gave the go ahead. There was a beat of silence after Dove made certain he had all the bases covered. There was a note of hesitancy that Gold had never heard in Dove’s voice before. 

_“Mr. Gold, if you…would you please keep me updated on Mr. Baeden’s condition?”_

The words triggered the memory of the first-time little Bae had met the gentle giant. All wide eyes and gaping mouth at the sheer height of him, Bae had hesitantly but bravely reached up his small hand for Dove to shake before ducking behind his father.

It was the first time Gold had seen Dove smile.

“Yes, of course.”

The phone call ended directly after, as a nurse came in bearing a clipboard with paperwork neatly arranged on it. She handed it to him, pointing out the places he needed to sign were marked with colorful sticky note arrows. Informing him that she would be back to collect the papers, she took her leave.

Belle released his hand so that he might have a better grip than simply balancing the clipboard on his knee. For a moment, he feared she might leave, and he shot out his hand to grip her arm. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I just need to make a few phone calls of my own. You didn’t mention clothes to Dove. Do you want me to get some for you?”

“No!” 

Closing his eyes as he scrounged for his clarity, he repeated, “No. Please, stay.”

Belle nodded as she pulled out her phone and dialed. Dimly, he was aware she spoke to Mrs. Potts. She ended that call quickly enough even as he read and signed the first few pages. Her next call was to Gaston, then after a frustrating conversation, she rang her roommate. Neither of which were of any interest until she made one last one. She made to get up but stopped when he looked at her sharply.

He’d made her falter just for a moment, he could tell. It wasn’t enough to stop her from fully getting out of her seat to walk away, her back slightly turned. He briefly wondered who she could be calling that warranted such secrecy. Her hand placed on the back of her hip as she murmured urgently into the phone, voice too low for him to distinguish the words. 

His pen continued to scratch out information but was halted by the slight raise of her voice as she cried, “No!” Her furtive glance met his own surprised look, but she smiled and turned away again.

Her call ended as he flipped the pages back down and inserted the pen behind the clip to secure it from falling out. He could hear her sigh of frustration better than any of her words. Distraught as he was, she appeared equally anxious.

“Everything alright?” he asked as she rejoined him, nearly collapsing into the seat. Her chuckle lacked humor, but she claimed his hand again, weaving her fingers between his. “I think I should be asking you that.”

His next words were interrupted as the Sherriff strode in, hands tucked away into his pockets. One hand slipped from his khaki pants and ran through his thick curly hair, nervous expression exuding from every pore. 

Gold stood, and he felt Belle rise with him, gently removing her hand from his own to stand behind him. 

“Sherriff, thank you for coming.”

“How’s your son, Mr. Gold?” the Irish man inquired, genuine concern relieving his nerves as he stepped closer.

“In surgery. Perhaps you can explain how that happened.” It was like Belle’s touch soothed some monster within because now he was all clenched teeth and tense shoulders, growl building to snarl.

“Mr. Gold, I under-”

“No, I don’t think you do, Sherriff,” Gold interrupted, eyes narrowing as the building storm of fury at the unknown inflictor of his son’s misery. “My son is lying on an operating table because of someone’s carelessness. I want to know what happened and who did it.”

He was about to refuse, Gold could see it written plainly, scrawled across the knots in his forehead as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Please, Graham. What happened?” That sweet Australian came to his rescue yet again, pleading so he didn’t have to.

“I, ah...” Graham started, staring at the floor before raising his gaze to flick between Belle and Gold. “I got the call after it happened. A woman was jogging and heard the crash and called it in. A man ran a red light and T-Boned your son. The woman was able to pull out the other man, but she saw your son’s condition and let the firefighters pull him out.”

Gold nodded slowly, his hands clasping in front of him, thumb tapping against his knuckle. “And the name of the man?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Graham declared, suddenly embodying the badge and trying to stand fearless before Gold. “I know what you’ll do with that name.”

The storm flashed lightning in Gold’s eyes as thunder encased his voice even as his words were spoken softly. “You will, or you will be _ruined_. Give me the name, Sherriff, or I will take your job and reputation.” A sneer wormed its way to his lips as he finished sardonically, “Even your precious little mayor won’t be able to save you.”

Shoulders that had been so straight and broad slumped in defeat, cowed by the smaller man. 

“Michael Piper.”

“Where is he?”

Graham said nothing, clinging to the honor of his position. 

“He’s in the hospital, isn’t he?”

He watched him tighten his lips, determination to not say anything giving him away just as surely if he’d nodded instead.

“Get. Out.”

Astounding alacrity had his words obeyed as the man rushed to make himself scarce. Gold watched him go with hooded eyes, anger dripping away and allowing the pain to settle again on his shoulders. He wanted it gone, this burden. If not gone, to share it at the very least and he had someone willing right behind him.

Turning to face Belle, he was surprised to see her with clasping her mouth with delicate fingers, eyes wide in shock.

“Belle?” 

“No,” she said, removing her hand from her lips and folding her arms in defiance. To what, he had no idea.

“No?”

“No,” she repeated, her voice all iron and fire. “Don’t you dare stand there and ask me what’s wrong.”

Gold frowned, confused. “Dearie, I don’t know to what you’re referring.” From the angry glare she shot him, he half expected her to throw up her hands and walk away. Instead, she pinched the bridge of her nose before drawing and over her face and gripping her hips before searching him.

“I know you are hurting, but that doesn’t give you leave to threaten a man to get revenge from another man over an _accident_.”

_Oh_.

“Belle, this is no accident,” Gold said, reaching out for her and felt rewarded when she didn’t instantly flinch away, curiosity holding her still.

“What do you mean, ‘this is no accident’?”

He dared to take a step closer as he explained, “The man, Michael Piper is a renter who was evicted yesterday. He was angry and wanted revenge. No doubt he thought I was in the car, not Bae.”

“A renter? Eviction does not usually elicit such a drastic action, _Mr. Gold_.” She flung out his name, a reminder to shy away from familiarity. 

That aggravated him. 

“No, not usually,” he said calmly, fighting for civility, fighting to remain present with her instead of giving into the demons that told him to go find the man and finish off what the accident started. “The man is a wife beater, Miss French. And a drunk and a gambler!” he could feel himself losing the battle for civility as his words increased in volume. “He nearly killed my Bae for the sake of hurting me!”

She contemplated him, he could see it in the way she tilted her head. Instead of returning his yells and shouts with anger in kind, she slipped her arms under his and pulled him into another embrace.

“I know you’re hurting, but Bae needs your full attention. You don’t have time to go after someone for revenge. Your son needs you.”

Even as he clenched her tightly to him, he could feel the tears come and well in his eyes. He wondered if she cared or if she could even feel them as they trickled through her hair.

“Sir?”

He looked up at the doctor entering the room. The empty look in his eyes aged him far beyond his actual years. Shoulders hunched, he fiddled with his hands before shoving them into his pockets and approaching them. Gold disentangled himself from Belle in anticipation of an update. 

There was something off about his bearing, not enough urgency in his step as the young doctor shuffled toward them. He opened his mouth to speak before closing it and his eyes, screwing them shut as if in pain.

Gold refused to assume the worst. Bae was stronger than that. His little boy was stronger than that.

“Well?” Gold demanded, clenching Belle’s hand as he faced the doctor.

“I’m sorry. We did all we could. He went into cardiac arrest, but we couldn’t save him.” The young doctor lifted his head, sorrow and sympathy pouring from him in waves. “I’m truly sorry, he died on the table.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just.... Just keep reading. I need you to just bear with me. 
> 
> Leave a review!


	15. Darker Clouds

Gold’s world stopped. Everything stopped moving. He ceased breathing. A ringing echoed in his ears

_Bae_.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t blink. 

_Dead_.

He felt something being torn from his chest like claws thrust in and ripped out his lifeline. Excruciating, terrible agony.

_Gone_.

He could see flashes of smiles, bright green eyes, happy laughter, all suddenly encased in darkness.

_Forever_.

“Dr. Ozman! What are you doing in here? I told you to tell the family in waiting room B, not A!” 

A loud annoyed voice rang out in the waiting room, enough to shake Gold out of his stupor. He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, but that wasn’t enough to galvanize his brain to work out what it meant.

Dr. Whale approached them, apologetic smile plastered on his face. “Sorry about that. Baeden is fine. I thought I’d give you the good news myself, but that idiot beat me here.”

For a moment, Gold rather fancied himself like a deflated balloon as he exhaled slowly, relief rushing through him and pushing away insecurity and loss.

He vaguely heard Belle ask, “Bae’s alright? He’s alive?”

“Quite alive. He pulled through surgery like a champ. I thought you might want to know.”

Managing to scrounge together the tattered remains of his calm, Gold requested, “Can you tell me of his injuries? What is he in surgery for?”

The doctor gestured towards the chairs. He waited until they all settled before beginning, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and folding his hands before him. The smile remained, but it was a little smaller now in the presence of serious talk.

“The accident was traumatic for Bae. Please understand that while he will recover, it won’t be a walk in the park.” 

Dr. Whale looked back and forth between Gold and Belle before settling on the pawnbroker. Gold waved a hand, sensing the other man’s reluctance to say anything that could potentially cause outrage.

“Don’t try to spare me. Be precise. What happened?”

Nodding slowly, Dr. Whale resumed his role as a doctor, not a townsperson frightened of the beast.

“The other vehicle rammed into the driver’s side door. The force of it caved the door inward and he cracked a rib. The window shattered causing minor lacerations on Bae’s head. He has a concussion that we are monitoring very carefully. He has a broken radius,” the doctor pointed to his forearm, “and a dislocated shoulder.”

Gold tried to hide the flinches he felt at hearing about the infliction of his son’s injuries. If Belle’s tightened grip and Whale’s sudden averseness to continuing were any indication, he was doing a poor job.

“There was enough force to break his left tibia.” The doctor eyed Gold and when he received a frustrated glare, he seemed to make up his mind to hurry and finish.

“The major injuries that we are concerned about is the concussion, the fractured pelvis and the strip of plastic from the door that impaled his abdomen.”

“I’m sorry, impaled?” Belle repeated, for which he was grateful. 

He couldn’t have heard that right. When the doctor smiled, Gold thought he might take his cane in hand and slam it repeatedly into other man’s abdomen and see if he remained smug after.

“Actually, of the three, the concussion and the broken pelvis are our main concerns now. The plastic didn’t hit anything vital and didn’t give us any trouble. Bae will just have to take it easy and not eat a steak when he wakes up.” 

Gold’s mood didn’t lighten at the attempted joke. 

“His pelvis will be the most painful to recover from. It will hurt just lying down, let alone sitting or standing. Luckily, it is a difficult bone to break and just has a hairline fracture.”

“And his concussion?”

“I don’t think it is too severe. I was told he was awake after the accident. He probably only remained unconscious for a minute or so but passed out from the pain in the ambulance. We are going to keep watching it.”

Gold pressed his lips into a thin line as he fiddled with the head of his cane. “Is he awake now? Can I see him?”

Dr. Whale exhaled slowly, stalling for time, Gold knew, to prevent him from seeing his son. 

“He is still asleep. He needs his rest,” Whale tried. 

Gold wasn’t biting. “Then I’ll be quiet.”

“We are still doing checks.”

“I hardly think I’m large enough to present an obstacle,” Gold countered, a sardonic, self-depreciating smile slipping through.

“I-”

“How does he look?” Belle interrupted swiftly. 

When Gold saw the blood drain from the doctor’s face, he understood. 

“It’s not pretty. His face is cut up and swollen. And…” he trailed off as Gold pushed himself out of his chair. He looked down his nose at the doctor enunciating his words so there was no confusion.

“I don’t care. I am going to be there when he wakes up.”

Standing, the doctor beckoned for them to follow him as he winded through the hallway before stopping at a secluded room on the right. He paused with his hand on the knob, staring first at the floor and then at Gold. 

“We are still doing what we can. Right now, he just needs to rest.” It was a plea that Gold found unnecessary. Money and influence bought many things. The best hospital care fell well into that category.

“Let me see my son.”

The doctor pushed the door open, his arm wide and body pressed against the door to allow Belle and Mr. Gold entrance before closing it. The door shut with a soft click and Gold could hear the heavy tread as the doctor walked away.

Whale hadn’t been entirely accurate when he said the sight of his son wasn’t pretty. The rise and fall of his chest was a beautiful thing that Gold would never take for granted again. Purple and red bruises forming on Bae’s left cheek, however, were not heartening. Tiny trails of red traversed the boy’s skin as if a mouse with sharp claws had struggled and slipped as it scrambled over his nose. 

There was a chair situated next to the bed on Bae’s right side. It was odd to sit and look at him and see him as if nothing were wrong. He had only to sit taller to see injuries peeking from beneath the blanket or the awkward way in which Bae held himself as he slept. 

“My God, Bae,” he whispered softly as he lay a warm hand over his son’s cool one. He didn’t dare to smooth the hair back from his boy’s forehead. Clearly, Bae needed rest and Gold didn’t want to wake him. 

“I should go.” The murmured words were accompanied by pressure on his shoulder before it slipped away. 

The words shocked him. She’d been with him, waiting for the outcome and now she was just leaving?

He snagged her hand before she could leave, his grip loose when she turned in surprise. “You don’t have to,” he told her, “You don’t have to go.”

The words at the tip of his tongue were more forceful, more demanding, but he couldn’t bring himself to _beg_. Not now. Not ever.

“I know. I don’t want to…” The words looked like they made her miserable. He remembered that just a few months ago he’d casually thought that a frown would mar her beauty. He was far beyond that now. She made him care, made him want to steal away the trouble that distressed her so. 

“What is it?” he asked, softly, making a move to stand. She pressed him down with gentle pressure and he capture that hand as well, staring up at her with concern.

“Nothing terrible, I promise. It just can’t wait.” 

He’d never seen a smile so false come from her. Squeezing his hands, she gently removed hers from his grasp.

“I’ll bring something back for Bae. For when he wakes up.”

Any other time that didn’t involve him sitting by his son’s hospitalized body would have had him asking if she referred to the phone call she made earlier. Except his son lay still before him, machines beeping quietly. 

“I promise I’ll be back.”

Gold nodded, not pressing even though he felt the beginnings of an itch at the back of his mind that signaled a simmering curiosity. She took a step closer to him and leaned down. Planting a light kiss on the top of his head, she smoothed back a lock of his hair before turning away to leave.

The kiss startled him enough to simply sit and watch her go with no further protest. It didn’t stop him from wondering where she was going and if it had anything to do with her earlier hushed phone call. His suspicion and curiosity were grown from long years of nature and habit. 

Some habits never die.


	16. Hail Storm

Belle French was beginning to grow the impression that she attracted trouble better than a strong magnet attracted metal. She thought that she had left the more difficult years behind in Brisbane, her troubles unable to keep up with the layover flight to the States.

She was near her father, she had a nice job, and she’d met Mr. Gold. Meeting him in Portland had been an experience. When she’d thought for a moment that she would never see him again, Belle had felt an uncharacteristic loss. It was not often a witty man with a handsome face and a gentlemanly manner came along. Meeting him again remained at the top of her list of fortuitous events. 

That sweater had been lucky.

He had a way with words, Mr. Gold did. Capable of talking circles around her, every conversation felt like a complicated dance until he revealed a comic side of himself, humorous and a little silly. Relaxing, she’d begun to feel comfortable around him.

Glad, was she, that they had met before she came to town. After all she’d had heard now, she would’ve expected someone well over six feet with the complexion of an ogre. A distinguished, handsome man with a slight build had not been the mental picture she would have carried for months. 

His face littered a number of napkins and scrap papers now, etched out in ink and graphite, he stared out at her, eyes taunting yet inviting. Reveling in the times she made him laugh, she greatly anticipated the moment he walked into her library, cane tapping welcomingly against the floor. 

At first it had been simple, he had been a new friend that shined in every topic she dared throw his way. Although at times she wondered if he thought them as familiar as she did, months in, she considered them beyond acquaintances, if not good friends. Then Bae had introduced himself and any reservations she’d had about the Beast of Storybrooke vanished in the face of his polite, boyishly charming son.

No monster could raise such a darling with such love and adoration as Mr. Gold showed Bae. The two were closely knit together with clear affection on the part of the ‘Heartless Mr. Gold’. Bae, an engaging teenager, would stop by every once in a while, and had Belle not known better, she would have sworn he was trying to set her up with his father.

She could have stopped him, but by then her affection for Mr. Gold had turned into something deeper and she found she didn’t want to. Even though every fiber in her being screamed that he would never understand what happened in Australia, that his instincts to protect his son would steer him clear of her.

Briefly, she toyed with the idea of being with him without revealing her past. A hypocrisy, if she ever heard one, considering her greatest commandment concerning relationships was honesty. 

Now, Bae was in the hospital and if that wasn’t enough to warn her to stay away from Gold for his own good, Killian Jones was in town.

Killian, all suave swagger in his black leather jacket had smirked at her as she passed him in the library. She’d ushered Gold out, only allowing a small gasp to pass her lips at the man’s unexpected presence. Her focus remained the same: Get Gold to the hospital. 

When she did and sat beside him in the waiting room, she had more time to think about Killian. Eighty percent of her mind stayed dedicated to comforting Gold and worrying about Bae. 

The other twenty flickered through a thousand reasons why Killian would be in Maine and each more outlandish than the rest. She was panicking, and the slippery slope was difficult to escape.

 

Her last phone call before finally managing to turn her full attention to Gold had been to her old friend Meixiu Fa. She’d cursed the international call fee even as the phone rang. With no time for explanation at that moment, she wrangled a promise of contact soon out of the stubborn woman thousands of miles away. 

That finished, she’d centered her mind on her friend seated beside her. Any time she felt the creeping thoughts of Killian in the recess of her mind, she tried to squash them and be there for Gold. It only worked until Bae was alright. The moment she heard he had made it through surgery, it cleared up a good thirty percent of her processing power. Which was why she couldn’t bear to stay any longer after they finally got to see Bae. Killian awaited a solution and Belle just wanted to wrap her arms around Gold and only let go to include Bae when he woke up. 

She needed to go. 

And she did, pressing her lips to the top of Gold’s head and trying not to think about how soft his hair was because his son lay asleep in a hospital bed covered in bruises and cuts. 

She closed the door gently behind her. Exhaling, she closed her eyes and searched for her composure. She found it in mangled tatters in the furthest recess of her mind. Tiredly, she held her head up and tried to walk with confidence instead of slump and shuffle like she half wished she could. The hospital seemed longer on her way out, a labyrinth as she read the illuminated exit signs in hopes of following it like yarn.

When she stepped outside, the sliding doors her last feeble protection from the world, she huddled into her scarf and braced herself for the wind. Funny how her body finally seemed to match the numbness she was beginning to feel on the inside.

Belle hurried to her car, the cold making her nose run and the icy breeze sticking strands of her hair to the gloss on her lips. The car started, but Belle didn’t move to shift it into reverse. She sat in the driver’s seat with her hands glued to the steering wheel as she stared sightlessly into oblivion. 

For just a moment, she toyed with the idea of just running and disappearing. While not ideal, it would certainly eliminate the problem. She’d thought that almost 9,800 miles would be enough distance. The sheer distance should have overshadowed the need to change her name. 

Apparently not. She could do it now, she thought. She could just go. Her father would be hurt, but it would be better for him if she weren’t around. What were they going to do to a dying man? She could grab her things and go…

Except she knew Killian and he would be waiting for her at the apartment; No doubt anxious to play the mastermind. 

She set her jaw, a grim line of determination drawing her eyebrows together as she relaxed her hands, put the car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking spot. From there, it was a swift, careful drive to her apartment. Stepping out of the car, Belle pulled the combat knife she always carried out of her purse. Her skirt didn’t provide very many options to hide it, but her boots were knee high, so she tucked it into her right boot. The clip was visible and, while it was unavoidably unfortunate, it remained hidden well enough when it sat directly behind her leg. 

Smoothing out her skirt when she’d straightened and tying back her hair, she inhaled deeply before walking into the building. She opened the door, purse already slipping from her shoulder: the picture of innocence. 

“Ah, Belle, I didn’t think you would be back so soon.” Killian didn’t even bother to look over his shoulder as he poured a mug of boiling water before dunking in a tea bag.

“Would you like some? I know you were always picky about your tea, but I thought this might be faster,” he offered, turning with a smile and raising the mug to her. 

The nonchalance game was something she’d taught him, albeit unaware that he was a criminal. Belle lay her purse on her favorite floral print, worn out armchair in the sitting room, careful to keep an eye on him at all times, never allowing him to see her back. Specifically, the knife clipped to the back of her boot and chafing comfortingly against her calf. 

“No, thank you,” she answered, “I tend to not accept beverages from people who’ve nearly had me killed.” She kept her arms loose and ready. “I’m picky that way.”

Killian laughed as he set the mug on the island countertop. He kept himself behind it. Presenting an unthreatening figure but letting her know he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon, he stood there with smug surety that set her teeth on edge.

“Yes, well, bygones and all that,” he said with a wave of his hand. 

“Not really. I take threats pretty personally,” Belle replied, warily. She didn’t move any further than the door. A quick getaway would be important if that’s what it came down to. 

Killian shrugged, never losing the smirk he wore so charmingly. “To each their own. Please, join me. If not for tea, then to sit and chat.”

“You’ll have to excuse me. I’m not in a chatting mood.” Belle took a quick glance around the area again. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary when she’d first entered, but his ease disturbed her.

Then again, it always had.

“Yes, well,” the clank of metal against granite jerked her attention back to Killian. “I insist.”

The pistol rested casually on her countertop. While familiar in his own hand, it seemed so out of place amidst her belongings. 

Belle muttered, “How can I refuse such a gentlemanly invitation?”

“You can’t,” he said, his tone a touch harsher; as if asking her through show of force irritated him. 

She sat down on one of the old barstools Ariel had found dumpster diving. They’d cleaned up well enough. Nothing varnish couldn’t fix. The foot rungs placed the knife closer to her itching hands, but she rested them on her lap and stared defiantly at her intruder. 

“What do you want, Killian?”

He didn’t pick up the gun, but his hand never left it. Smirk back in place, he bounced the tea bag within the mug, asking, “Are you sure you don’t want some? I know you’ve always loved your tea.”

“I like answers better. Why are you here?”

Killian pouted before sipping the tea and grimacing. “You won’t mind if I have some milk and sugar, will you? Always liked things sweet, me.”

Nodding at the fridge, Belle kept the anger out of her voice as she replied, “Help yourself. You would even if I said no.”

 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Killian said over his shoulder as he pulled open the fridge. He took the gun with him, the rings on his fingers scraping against the metal as it moved loosely in his hand. 

Belle watched as he poured a liberal amount of milk into the mug before pointing to a cabinet and raising his eyebrows. Giving a helpless little raise to her shoulders, she hid a petulant smile at his scowl while he scrounged for the sugar. He spooned a measure out before stirring his tea, clinking the metal spoon against the ceramic.

Patience had never been a particularly well-formed virtue of Belle’s, but the pistol in his hand inspired her to bide her time, waiting until he’d taken an appreciative sip to ask again, “Why are you here, Killian?”

He appraised her for a minute, ice blue eyes roving over her as he scratched the scruff on his cheek. 

“I didn’t think I’d miss you so much after you left. You really are one of a kind, Belle.”

“I’d rather be a dime a dozen if it kept you out of my life.”

Chuckling into his tea, Killian swallowed before wagging his finger, momentarily taking the hand off his gun. 

“You never could be. Any other girl would be screaming and begging me not to hurt them. Not you. Not brave little Belle.”

“If you don’t want me screaming, then what do you want?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, replacing his hand on the pistol. “Nothing so cliché as getting you back. As grand gestures go, this is solidly in the wrong direction.” He picked up the gun and shook it at her. “No, this is purely business.”

For a moment, Belle didn’t breathe. With the barrel pointed directly at her, there was no chance of her getting to her knife in time. He had no tremor in his hold and bore a grim set to his jaw, muscle pulsing as he stared hard at her.

He laughed, dropping his hand and resting the gun back on the countertop. “No, I’m not here to kill you. We have different business to attend to. We really can’t talk here. I don’t want your roommate barging in on us. That would be unpleasant for you and painful for her.”

He pulled a slip of paper from inside his jacket and slid it toward her. “Meet me here tomorrow. And Belle,” he lingered a finger on the card, “Believe me when I say that the cops here will be of no help to you. So, don’t bother calling them. Tell your friends about this and their deaths will be on your head.”

Killian smiled at her, tapping the paper before sipping the tea again. “If you don’t believe me, just look at Baeden. It could have been worse, but that was just a warning, so keep your little friend, Mr. Gold, clear of this. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, would you?”

As Killian rounded the island for the first time, Belle stood, using the movement to hide the removal of her knife from her boot. It flipped open with a quiet snick masked by Killian’s heavy foot falls. She angled her body to hide the knife held in a backwards grip, tip toward her forearm. 

Killian stood before her, flicking the safety on and off of his gun with his thumb. 

“Stay here awhile. Clear your head. We wouldn’t want you running back to the hospital stressed, now would we?”

Sticking the gun into a shoulder holster, he zipped up his leather jacket with a deft hand. When he stepped closer, she tightened her grip on the handle. 

“Belle, believe me when I say that if you make a wrong move, people will get hurt. I want this to go smoothly. Help me do that if not for your sake, for your friends.”

Almost as if to touch her, his hand reached up, but he straightened his collar and strolled out of her apartment. Belle squashed the urge to hurl the knife into his back. She had a feeling trouble had left the room but not Storybrooke.

**~~~***~~~**

Belle stood still only for a moment after Killian left. Her first priority was to see if anything had been moved, any clues dropped about why he’d come to Storybrooke. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. The small slip of paper she left inside her door to fall if anyone ever entered without permission remained in place, but knowing Killian, he would have picked it up and replaced it.

As she made her sweep, she checked for any listening devices he might have planted. Killian wasn’t always subtle, but something told her that this particular situation was more than just catching up with an ex-girlfriend after a nasty break-up. 

Belle found a bug in the tv remote connected to the battery for a power source. She found another in her room connected to the lamp. Entering Ariel’s bedroom, she made a quick sweep and found one in her lamp as well. She hadn’t found any video recording devices by the time she wound her way back into the kitchen, but she found a listening device in every room. 

Crushing each with more than a small sense of satisfaction, she brought down her meat pounder with more force than necessary. That finished, Belle rummaged around for the satellite phone Meixiu had gifted her. 

While she found it, it was in pieces. Killian must have broken it. Wondering again if running away wouldn’t be the smarter play, she sank down on the edge of her bed and stared at the device held together by broken wires and thin plastic. 

No, now was the time to be calm and objective. Her curiosity demanded the reason Killian had come. She couldn’t leave her father defenseless. She couldn’t leave Gold virtually friendless in a town that hated him with his son in the hospital. 

Having decided she was staying, Belle got up to retrieve her laptop. Thankfully, Killian hadn’t seen fit to destroy that as well, so the email to Meixiu went off without a hitch. It demanded a Skype call later that evening and explaining what had happened to the gift.

Closing the screen, Belle rested her hands on the flat of the computer resting on her knees. She had a small desk in the corner of her bedroom, the left side facing the door. A small picture of her and Ariel perched beside the place her laptop usually did. 

She contemplated the consequences of informing Ariel of the danger. It didn’t take long to decide that not telling her would be more dangerous than revealing part of her history she would have rather left buried. 

Belle could survive emotional pain dredged up from her past. She wasn’t so sure Ariel would survive the physical pain of getting killed in the present.

Satisfied that nothing else had been disturbed in her apartment, she moved back to her bedroom. A gun sat beneath a false bottom in her pajama drawer. She contemplated it for a few moments, weighing out the implications bringing it along could have. 

While she’d feel safer, she wasn’t sure it was necessarily smarter. If anyone caught her with it, there wasn’t an explanation she could give that would explain why the calm and respected artist and librarian toted a nine-millimeter, semi-automatic pistol. Belle took it with her anyway, shoving her pajamas away from the small bump in the center that allowed her to reveal the pistol hiding away. Unloaded, the magazine sat next to it, waiting to be slid into place. 

She laid the pistol on her bed with the magazine before closing her drawer again after rearranging her clothes. Taking a brief moment, Belle brought out a pair of jeans that were loose enough to move easily in. The blouse she wore dressed up the denim well and didn’t give the illusion she was preparing for an attack. 

Having changed, Belle refocused on arming herself. A tote beneath her bed carried her gun cleaning supplies. Although she cleaned it regularly, Belle wasn’t taking a single chance. 

Disassembling the gun calmed her far more than it had a right to. Under every normal circumstance, Belle abhorred violence. It made her speculate on how long her circumstances had strayed so far from center. When the gun was cleaned and reassembled, Belle pulled out her shoulder holster from beneath her bed. Her father had bought it for her after he’d been satisfied she knew how to shoot. Although she’d mentioned it was unnecessary considering she didn’t have a permit to conceal it on her person, he’d chuckled and said it might come in handy.

Unconsciously, she looked toward her purse where her wallet carried a permit for her conceal carry. Not for the first time, she blessed and thanked her father’s connections that had allowed her to acquire a United States Citizenship so easily.

She shrugged on the holster and slipped the gun into its space. Immediately, the weight comforted her. The winter provided her with more options for loose jackets to conceal the small bump the gun made beneath her thin jacket she had quickly placed over top. A heavy winter coat with puff and down for warmth served her purpose well. At that moment, Belle didn’t care that Ariel had dubbed it the snowman jacket even though it was a discreet black. 

About to text Ariel that she would be visiting, Belle paused with her thumb above the send button. Maybe she was paranoid, but she couldn’t remember if she’d left her phone alone at all. She checked the inside of the phone and everything looked fine: no bug or GPS. Biting her lip, her eyes darted to her emergency phone’s hiding place. 

Meixiu had been truly generous in her gifts. The satellite phone had been used more frequently, the two of them talking often across the distance. The emergency burner phone dwelled almost forgotten beneath a floorboard under a rug.

Belle flipped back the rug with care. A small, thin, easily breakable thread attached the rug to the floor. Any action other than gentle lifting snapped it.

It hadn’t been broken. Killian hadn’t found it.

She took the burner out, dialed Ariel, and waited for her to pick up. It went to voicemail which caused momentary throat closing panic before she quieted and calmed herself with the reminder that whatever Killian wanted required complacency. Killing friends so quickly wouldn’t foster anything but hardship for him. 

Belle gathered herself, replacing the rug and re-stowing anything she’d removed from their spots in her room. Slowly turning to survey her room, she spotted something on her bookcase. Even amidst trouble, the miniature ship in a bottle brought a twinge of nostalgia. Gently removing it from its perch, she remembered Bae mentioning a fascination with the ‘impossible bottle’. On impulse, she took it with her.

Stowing away her keys into her jacket, she headed out into the sitting room. Her purse sat where it had since she’d walked in and discovered Killian. Fishing her wallet out of it, she thumped it against the palm of her hand before reaching for the door. 

He would not conquer her. Not today.

Not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed a peek into Belle's mind. I had fun. I hope you all enjoy the Holiday. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!


End file.
